The Golden Bond
by Kimainy
Summary: Lucy, Eustace and Edmund left Narnia behind after the voyage of the Dawntreader, and Caspian went on to bring about the second Golden Age. But before he did, he had to face the ice wars and as it turns out, not all of the former kings and queens stayed in England for good. This is the story of two fates intertwined, having crossed twice already, now bound together. (Slow burn)
1. Chp 1 - The First Storm

**The Golden Bond;**

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 **A Narnia Fan-Fiction featuring _Queen Lucy the Valiant_ and _King Caspian the Seafarer._**

 **Preview:** _When Eustace, Edmund and Lucy returned to England at the end of the Dawntreader's journey, Caspian returned to his kingdom with his father's councilors. His return brought about a new great age of gold and prosperity, and the sons and daughters of man returned to their daily lives back in England. But before the Golden Age of King Caspian the Seafarer, came the Ice Wars and not all Wardrobians stayed beyond the Wardrobe for good. Some fates are intertwined, meant to cross time and time again, just as some are never crossed nor bound together._

 _This is the story of two fates, already having crossed twice, suddenly bound together._

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 **1\. – The First Storm**

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Lucy woke to the terrible roar of thunder and the storm that was raging outside. She sat up in her bed, her fingers clutching her sheets for just a second, before pushing her covers away to swing her legs out of bed. The floor was ice cold against her bare feet, but she stood up anyway.

Something had called her, someone – Aslan? – but it could not be. Not now, not after seven years. Not after having been told that she would never return to Narnia again in this life-time. It was simply impossible. It was foolish, really, for her to keep tying everything unusual and anything inexplicably to Narnia. Even something as ordinary as waking from a dream to the sound of thunder made her thoughts drift to the home she would never return to.

Silliness, Susan called it. To be so caught up in a child's game.

Sadness followed the thought as Lucy recalled Susan and her view of Narnia. She had all but forgotten it, insisting that it was not real, did not exist. Peter was much the same, although he remembered it better. As of late, even Edmund had begun to pull away from remembering, claiming that they had to live in the world that they would stay in. She could not talk to anybody about it and somehow that made her remember it all the clearer, sharper, more painfully than any nostalgic story would have. She might have spoken to Eustace of it, but he had been sent off to boarding school.

Lucy herself was at boarding school, to be fair. An all girls one in the north country, one famous for making even the most dimwitted of girls into proper women, capable of being pretty little housewives. Needless to say; Lucy hated it.

She had but one single friend, Anna Hivedale, and she missed her siblings whom she could only contact through letters. The school did not permit phone calls except in emergencies.

Anna Hivedale had transferred in the middle of the year as her parent had tired of having her unruly ways around their house. They had hoped that the Headmistress of Saint Magdalene's school of housekeeping could straighten her out and conform her to society. So far the Headmistress had had no such luck.

No, she had in fact failed miserably.

Anna remained every bit as bold, wild and fearless as the day she arrived. That was what Lucy liked about her and the reason why Lucy had been the only girl the dorm-keeper could persuaded to share a room with Anna. Not that she needed persuading.

Lucy had been daydreaming on one of the benches outside the dorms, imagining that the grey and dreary gardens came to life with nymphs and tree spirits as they would have in Narnia, when Anna had appeared out of nowhere, asking her which way to the dormitories. She had run away from the Headmistress when the tour of campus got too boring and too stiff, something that later resulted in quite a bit of punishment in form of kitchen-duty and the lasting friendship of the two girls.

Anna had a temper that alienated her from the rest of the girls. She never took any insult lying down, but fired back double what she got. Lucy, being much the same and lonely too, felt a kinship with the girl that rivalled the one she had with her siblings. Having been used to being treated with respect and friendship, unused to the cruelty of teenage girls, Lucy had developed a sharp tongue to defend herself. One that often got her in trouble with the other girls at the school, but in turn had won her a friend in Anna. The only thing that spoke against Anna was her unwillingness to listen to Lucy's tales of Narnia.

"A silly bit of fantasy." she would say, grinning. "Not for us proper housewives, is it dear?" she would continue, imitating the Headmistress' haughty tone.

Lucy did not argue. She did not have the energy to continue holding on to Narnia and it worried her that her grip on the world was loosening. Would she never see it again? All her friends and Aslan? Would she end up as unimaginative as Susan?

At eighteen she barely had a choice any more,- and if any it was to grow up.

Another roll of thunder passed over her head, bringing her back to the now. She counted slowly to twenty before lightning flashed outside her window. For a second it seemed to illuminate a face in the clouds. A woman's face, somehow familiar.

Feeling uncertain as she stood beside her bed, and unwilling to wake Anna, she walked to the window and looked outside it. Everything was black.

 _One, two, three –_ The thunder roared again, not far away she reckoned. She stared at the trees outside, their branches black against the sky, swaying in the stormy winds. Rain was falling too, making everything a greyish blur.

A new lightning flashed and now she saw something move in the gardens beneath her window. She was certain of it!

 _One, two –_ Thunder and the strange sense that somebody was calling her again.

Had it been a large dog or something? It had looked like that. Her heart skipped. It could not be...?

Suddenly she was in a hurry, pulling socks and boots on beneath her nightgown as she tiptoed down the hall. She was careful not to make any noise that would wake up the dorm-keeper, Mrs. Jenkins, or she would have another round of toilet-duty – kitchen-duty was reserved for minor offences and new girls who had had no chance to learn the rules yet. Making it all the way to the front-hall without being found out, Lucy hurried for the window by the couches. The front-door would be locked, but it was an open secret between the girls that the lock on this particular window was broken.

It was little trouble for Lucy, former head-huntress of the kings and queens of old, and renowned troublemaker, to get it open with almost no noise to speak of and then lift herself out of it and into the storm.

The rain hit her like a bucket of ice-cold water, – it might as well have been, since she was drenched in a matter of seconds – as the wind fought to push her back inside. Still her boots hit the muddy ground beneath the window as she wished, with a shiver, that she had thought to bring her jacket. She looked around the dark abandoned dormitory-garden as she walked towards where she had seen the large shadow.

She reached the old and leafless tree where she had seen the creature, placing a hand against it as lightning flashed. _One_ – a thunderous roar filled the air around her as she saw the outline of him a few feet in front of her.

"Aslan!" she yelled, joy and confusion in her voice as her teeth chattered from the cold. She started talking as she took a step away from the old apple-tree. "I knew-" but what she knew remained unspoken as a yet another lightning struck, hitting the tree above her and engulfing everything in whiteness before fading to black. She thought she heard the sad rumble that Aslan used to make deep in his chest whenever he told her goodbye.

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 **.o.O.o.**

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In the darkness of the castle halls, nobody noticed the shadow of a man when he made his way past the hallways and to the battlements beyond the watchtower. The guards, of course, noticed him when he reached them, but except for polite nods and murmured greetings, they let him be.

They all knew that something plagued the young king as he made his way to an – at present – deserted piece of the bastions. There he stood, drawing a deep breath of night-air into his lungs, as he regarded the horizon.

Caspian knew, as well as any Narnian outside this night, that a storm was coming. It had been on its way for quite some time already, collecting itself as grey and blackened clouds above the distant mountains.

It had been little less than two years since the Dawntreader had returned to Narnia together with its crew, King Caspian and the surviving of his father's – now his – advisers. It had been years full of celebrations and peace, but as of late there had been trouble brewing. Rumours spread from the north, that dark creatures had been massing in the shadows of the mountains and the snow had fallen early, bringing whisperings of a long and dark winter with it. Cats had been, and still were, turning up dead on the hills, all with their heads shaved completely bare, as if to bring insult to Aslan and his sacrifice 1300 years ago.

Caspian had sent spies to the north to find out the truth, but they had not yet returned nor sent word of their findings. He worried that they might never be heard from again. That he had sent them to their death.

He took a tight hold of the stonewall in front of him, looking towards the north and the lightning that raged between its clouds. Would there ever truly be peace in Narnia? Like there had not been since the time of the two kings and queens?

He remembered how young, younger than he was himself, they had seemed when they arrived. He remembered how they had quarrelled like the kids they looked to be one moment, only to turn serious and way too mature for their years the next. How had they managed to keep peace? He recalled their personalities and their actions. Peter, ever the brave and wise, keeping track of everything and making sure that nothing got out of hand. Susan, beautiful and strong, always the first to see the faults of a plan and point out how to correct it. Edmund, the fiercest and best warrior Caspian had ever seen, always there to back up his brother and sisters, loyal almost to a fault. And Lucy. Tiny, charming, kind and diplomatic Lucy, never one word out of place and never putting anybody off.

How could he live up to all their strength and wisdom? It had taken four rulers to bring about the golden age, so how could he, alone, do the same?

As soon as the thought caught words, he pushed it aside. It did no good to dwell on the past, neither on Susan, whom he had fallen in love with, or the other siblings whom had become his friends. Neither did self-doubt and weakness.

Taking another deep breath he left the battlements to return to his chambers for as long a sleep as he could catch before he would be woken by his councillors for another taxing meeting concerning the future of Narnia and the disturbing happenings of the north.

On the way to those chambers, he met with Trumpkin in the hallways, the dwarf hastening towards him.

"A messenger arrived, Caspian." he said. "Another cat was found at the northern hills, laid upon a great stone."

"Like Aslan on the table?" Caspian asked, his voice weary. He already knew the answer before Trumpkin nodded.

"Exactly like the five others." he confirmed. "Tied up and stabbed through the heart. No witnesses have come forth, and the messenger saw nothing that could lead to the perpetrators, though..." he hesitated.

"Though?" Caspian prodded.

"Frost had fallen around the poor creature, preserving it." the dwarf told him. "Ice-taps have been growing on the trees to the north, but the leaves have yet to fall."

"And people fear the return of the White Witch and the eternal winter." Caspian sighed, remembering the stories well from when he was little and then shivering as he remembered the cave, remembered her voice as she spoke to him from beyond the ice. "I have heard the rumours, as well as the one about the dark creatures flocking together."

Trumpkin waited for him to finish speaking, knowing that the young king had need of it.

"...I don't know what to do." Caspian admitted, leaning against the wall. "My scouts do not return, the messengers bring no news or leads about the cats. Fear is growing in my kingdom, but I have no solution." Sorrow and sadness filled his gaze, together with self-doubt. "How am I to protect my people?"

Trumpkin shrugged.

"You do what you find best, pray to Aslan and hope." he said. "That is all any of us can do."

Caspian looked at him.

"I suppose." he answered.

Trumpkin grunted at him.

"Hmpf!" he said. "Suppose right! Go to bed your majesty – before you lose your wit for lack of sleep."

Caspian chuckled, knowing that the conversation had gotten too personal for the dwarf, and resulted in him lashing out.

"Goodnight, Trumpkin." he said, before continuing to his chambers and his bed.

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 **.o.O.o.**

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Sunlight kissed her cheeks and danced upon her eyelids as she stretched, barely awake, to find that she was laid upon grass. It was soft and thick beneath her fingers, the smell of it filing her nostrils as she took a deep breath and opened her eyes. Above her was nothing but the blue, blue sky and the green leaves perched upon the branches of a tree.

She swallowed, noting that her throat and mouth was dry, before sitting up. Her body felt worn, like after a long days work and a heavy sleep, and her hair was stiff from having been slept upon while wet. Something tasted and smelled weirdly burned, something she had not noticed at first because of the strong smell of the plants around her and the clean air. The clean and all too familiar air.

She closed her eyes and let herself fall back onto the bed of grass, fighting back tears of overflowing emotion.

Narnia.

She was home.

The tears came anyway, flowing joyously from her eyes and down her cheeks as she swallowed the knot in her throat. She opened her eyes again, taking in the branches of the tree above her again. An old apple-tree, alive but past the fruit bearing years. Like the dead one back by the dormitory, almost the exact same shape and size, except – this one had blue and silver leaves, and the one back by the dormitories could not be there any more. It must have been destroyed by the lightning, the one that sent her back to Narnia. But why had it been done in such a manner?

The first time had been through the wardrobe, then it had been by the blowing of Susan's horn and last time had been through the painting of the Dawntreader. What had been the connection? The wardrobe had been made of tree, and so had the frame of the painting, the shame shade and texture as she recalled. Apple-tree perhaps? Was fruit-trees used for the crafting of furniture? But then what about the calling of the horn? Had that simply been a whim of Aslan, the promise of help to whomever should decide to blow it? A bit of Christmas magic?

It seemed that she was in a fruit-garden of sorts. All around her grew different trees, all hung low with ripe apples, oranges, plums and pears. All had they not only green, but also blue and silver leaves. But although it was undeniably a Narnian orchard, it was not one Lucy remembered ever seeing. Then again, time between her world and Narnia was strange, and it could very well be several hundred years since her last visit. She simply had no way of knowing, before finding somebody to ask.

So with all the same boldness and adventurous spirit that had led her to Narnia the first time, she got to her feet and started walking among the trees, to see if she could find signs of humans around. Well, not humans as such, but Narnians. Which could really be most of anything. In fact, it was one of her fondest longings that a sprite should choose to appear from one of the fruit trees, seeing as the nymphs were one of all the things she had missed most.

"Hello?" she called, gently. "You can come out. I'm not dangerous and I would so like somebody to talk to." she told the trees as she walked. From her last couple of visits to Narnia, she knew that the nymphs slept deeper and longer than they had when she and her siblings had defeated the White Witch. But perhaps one would choose to favour her with an appearance.

Nobody did though, and Lucy could now see a wall beyond the trees. She had reached the end of the orchard. The wall was well kept, though, and well build. It was large and greenish, and on top of it an intricate pattern of flying horses and lions and dancing women decorated it, seemingly carved out of the wall. The wall itself could have sprouted from the ground all on its own, as far as Lucy could see. It seemed to be all in one piece.

She decided to follow it round to find the exit leading out of the garden. She looked at the fruits around her, but something told her that eating them would be wrong when she did not know who they belonged to. Despite having recently turned eighteen, she was still very much like a child. She had wanted to grow up, she remembered, back when she had last been in Narnia. She had wanted to be seen, liked, like Susan. She had wanted to be beautiful, but she soon found out how foolish her way of thinking had been. Aslan had helped show her.

A deep sigh left her at the thought. She really had been a fool back then.

Now, whenever she looked in the mirror, she could see that although she was not nearly as beautiful as Susan, she still had her own sort of prettiness. Her curious blue eyes were large and surrounded by doe-like lashes. Her freckles had lessened as she grew older, leaving her skin smooth and clear, and her hair had gained a coppery glow as she grew it out. Now, she did not have the gentle curls that fell so naturally from Susan's head, but her own thick locks had their own kind of waviness to them. She was still small of stature, but where she once had been stocky, the time at St. Magdalene's had made her lean. Her hips and chest were more subtle than Susan's, which she at times regretted a bit, but they were there and that was well enough for her most of the time.

She looked down herself, giggling at the sight of her nightgown. Having been soaked in the storm, then dried somewhat in the sun and having been laid in on top of grass, had left it curled, spotted with green and simply not something you would expect a former Queen of Narnia to wear. Or as the headmistress would have said and Anna quoted; "Not for us proper housewives, is it dear?"

She continued following the wall, certain that she would reach a port or and opening at some point. The sun was still high, so she had plenty of time before nightfall.

She thought briefly of singing, or something, so that anybody near would be able to hear her and so that she could gain some help that way. In the end she decided against it. From the time where she and her siblings had been called to Narnia in the middle of Caspian's rebellion, she thought it wise not to make too much of a fuss until she knew what was happening. Another deep sigh left her. It seemed that travelling between the worlds were only ever possible when there was trouble in Narnia. She wondered briefly if she should be worried as to why she had been returned there, but then she pushed the thought away. She was simply too happy to be back to worry right now.

But suddenly she did.

Once, they had returned to Narnia, finding that everybody they had known there had been dead for hundreds of years. Now, when seven years had passed in England, how many had then passed in Narnia? How many of her friends remained? Tears sprung to her eyes at the thought and she took a deep breath to calm herself.

Running now, she hurried along the wall. The sun shone hot on her skin tiring her faster than she liked, but soon she could see what she searched for.

A port, shaped like two prancing horses with giant wings, shone like red copper in the sunlight. Golden bars made the doors between the statues, a giant lock put about the middle ones. It seemed to be such that you would need a key to open it.

Lucy ran to it, and pulled, hoping that it had been left unlocked. She had no such luck. The golden doors remained shut.

A frustrated cry left her lips as she stepped back away from it, stumbling. The gate seemed too tall for her to climb it. Could Aslan really had dropped her off somewhere where she would be locked in? Truly he would not! Or at least so she hoped, but despite the fact that she was the one who knew him best, she did not always understand his actions.

At least now that she had found the gate, she had also found the path leading through the orchard. Deciding that if she could not leave, she would follow that path, she started walking again. Perhaps Aslan wanted her to find something within this garden.

Moving through the trees, she reached what seemed to be the middle of the garden. A fountain sang quietly as the water rippled from its top to its lower basin, and she hurried to drink from it, suddenly realising how parched she had become. The water was clean and sweet and cool and left her feeling completely full, as if she had just been feasting on the most delicious of dinners. Only then did she see the inscription on the upper ring of the fountain.

.

~ Let only those who wish for nothing but a cool fresh spring, drink from my waters and be sated. ~

.

That was surely a strange thing to write on a fountain, Lucy thought, pulling back. Why would anybody drink from the fountain if they did not wish for something cool to drink? She shook her head, smiling. It must be a magical fountain, and it had certainly sated her for she no longer felt the least bit of hunger nor thirst, despite the small amount of water she had drunk.

Standing she looked around the centre of the garden, noticing only now that a large apple tree grew only a short distance from where she sat beside the fountain. She gasped at the sight of it, for it was no ordinary apple tree, like the others that she had passed. This one was large and on its branches hang only silver fruit, and suddenly Lucy felt a ravenous hunger grow at the sight of it. Everything within her screamed that she had to eat one of those apples, just one, a tiny bite. What could it hurt?

But Lucy remembered how magic worked in Narnia, and she stood fast, refusing to give into her hunger. She thought that surely, had she not still felt the after effects of the water, she would have run to gorge herself with the fruits.

"Aslan-" she called softly, her eyes fixed on the silver apples. "What are you thinking?"

If he heard her, he gave her no sign of it.

Hesitantly, she walked closer to the apple tree and its ripe fruits. Glancing up between its branches, she now saw a wondrous bird and a gasp of happiness left her.

"A sunset bird!" she said, smiling up at the pretty bird, the apples momentarily forgotten. The sunset birds had been one of her favourite things, back when she had reigned over Narnia with her siblings by her side. The beautiful dance they made in the sky when the sun set was one of the most amazing memories from that time, their feathers shining golden, then red, blue and all the colours of the world.

The bird rustled its feathers, opening an eye to look down on her.

"A human." it said in a dry voice.

"Oh I'm sorry." Lucy hurried to say. "That was terribly impolite of me."

"It was." the bird agreed.

"My name is Lucy Pevensie." she presented herself, dipping into a small curtsy.

The bird blinked at her, apparently uninterested in her name.

She hesitated a second.

"I'm afraid I don't know where I am." Lucy confessed, deciding not to press the bird for an introduction. "Aslan seems to have left me here, and I do not know why."

The bird cocked its head at her.

"You are in the first garden." it told her. "And I am the first of my kind, the one they call the Phoenix. And this-" it motioned to the tree upon which branches it was sitting. "-is the tree that gave seed to protect all of Narnia."

Lucy blinked, suddenly being reminded of how much she wanted to taste the apples. Then she forced her attention back to the bird.

"Then this is truly within Narnia?" she asked.

The bird gave half of a nod.

"At its borders." it told her. "But I'd wager that Aslan sent you here for a reason."

"He does seem to do that." she agreed.

"Then take an apple from my tree." the sunset bird allowed her. "Do with it what you will, but know this; A single bite can cure any ills, and if you eat all of one you shall live forever."

Lucy blinked at that, the possibilities of the apples almost making her dizzy.

"Live forever?" she gasped. "But surely, that is impossible! Only Aslan and the White Witch-" she stopped suddenly, the bird nodding.

"The White Witch once stole from my tree." it told her. "Those who eat the apples with a selfish heart will find it a sour fruit."

"So if I pluck it, I must not eat it?" Lucy asked, already her insides was hurting. To hold that fruit and carry it with her, without eating it, it would be terribly hard and painful she felt.

"You may, if you wish so." the bird said, shrugging. "I am neither judge nor guard. I sleep here, because I find it peaceful."

Lucy swallowed, trying to decide.

She no longer had the bottle with the cordial made from the juice of fire flowers and as such she could no longer heal anyone, should there be need of it. One bite of these apples however might have the same effect. Perhaps this was why Aslan had sent her here.

"If I should grate and boil one of these apples to make apple syrup-" she pondered. "Would that then have the same effect as the juice of a fire flower?"

The bird rustled its feathers as if it had been insulted.

"The same?" it mocked. "It would be ten, a hundred, a thousand times stronger! Where you would use a drop from the fire flowers, you should use only a needlepoint's worth of the apple juice!"

Lucy nodded to herself.

"So perhaps this is a test from Aslan." she said with a wry smile. She was beginning to feel like she had found the great lion's purpose for returning her. "If there is trouble in Narnia and Aslan has put me here, it must be because somebody will need healing." she reasoned. "And if I cannot carry one of these apples back to Narnia, then I will have failed him." she thought out loud, remembering how powerless she had felt whenever war came crushing down on Narnia, leaving her with only the small comfort of being able to soothe and heal the survivors.

The bird nodded towards one of the apples.

"Then take one and be on your way, so I can have my peace again. The gate should open for you now." and with that, it hid its head beneath its wing and seemed to go to sleep.

Lucy looked at the apple the bird had nodded at, and slowly, she reached out and plucked it. Having it in her hand made her so much hungrier and so much thirstier and she was horribly tempted to take a bite. But she bit her lip and turned to leave the garden instead. Despite it being such a simple action, it ate at her self restraint quicker than she cared to admit.

She started running to occupy her thoughts with something else and when she reached the gate, she saw that the lock was gone. Simply laying her hand against it, giving the gold a gentle touch, made the doors slide open and she stepped from the garden and out into a world that was somehow more real than the one within the walls.

The outside was colder and somewhat less colourful and light, despite the sun shining just as bright.

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 **.o.O.o.**

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 **A/N;**

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Greetings Daughters of Eve and Sons of Adam, Narnians and Wardrobians alike!

Some stuff, nothing important - skip it if you want to.

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 **Editing;**

I will be correcting mistakes and editing chapters runningly, as I have no Beta and often have typos, mistakes and written pasages that don't feel quite right to me. Don't be alarmed though! The changes will be small and won't change anything much, so you don't have to go back and re-read everything all the time. Instead, please review if I have made a mistake or a typo that I haven't noticed or corrected yet.

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 **For those who haven't read the books;**

The Garden of Youth is an actual cannon place in Narnia, allthough it is only featured in the first of the novels; The Magician's Nephew.

In this book, a young boy named Digory (Professor Kirke - from the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe) is asked by Aslan to go and bring him an apple from the tree planted in the garden of youth. After a bunch of trials and temptations (some of wich involved the White Witch - who had yet to turn white at that point, but did so after eating a stolen apple) he brings back the apple to Aslan. Aslan asks him to throw it, so that its seeds can become the tree to protect Narnia. A tree grows where it lands and sprouts apples of its own. Digory gets to bring one of these apples back to England, and his mother eats it and becomes healthy even though she was in the process of dying. Afterwards they plant the apple's seeds in the backyard, growing a tree.

The tree in Narnia stands in Cair Paravel and is shown in the second movie, where Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy pass through it to get back home.

The tree in England is later felled and made into a Wardrobe and a Frame for a painting amonst other things,- creating portals and ways to enter Narnia from our world.

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Thanks for reading! Please Review, Fave or Follow!


	2. Chp 2 - The Beginning of Winter

_**2\. – The Beginning of Winter**_

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Once Lucy had left the orchard, she stopped dead in her tracks, dumbfounded by the sudden change in atmosphere. The sounds of birds singing and the rushing sound of a river surprised her, and suddenly she realised that there had been almost no sound at all within the garden. It had been as if the Phoenix was the only living being in there. The air outside was also different. It did not smell quite as sweet, and as she looked around she realised why.

Where it had been a warm and dozy summer day within the walls, outside it seemed to be late autumn. There were no flowers, the grass seemed to be on the verge of withering and the leaves on the few trees within sight had turned orange and brown. Confused she turned to look back through the gate, only to find it closed behind her.

Frowning she looked around the outside, trying to decide exactly where in Narnia she was. The bird had said that the Garden was located at its border, but which one? It could not be the eastern one, for there was Cair Paravel and the ocean. Neither could it be to the south, where Telmar was, for she knew those places well. It might be the northern border, but she doubted it. The plants and the landscape did not look like it would have in the north. So she wagered that it must be close to the western border, quite possibly within the Western Wild.

A shiver ran through her when the sun passed behind a cloud, the nightgown being not nearly enough to keep her warm in the shadow. She smiled when the cloud passed and the sun hit her again. Then she frowned once more. She would be hard pressed to find shelter before dark, and she would need some, less she wanted to catch her death out here.

The thought of illness brought her eyes to the silver apple in her hand.

Just one bite would keep her well, she thought. Just one bite- What could it hurt? Her mouth watered and her stomach growled, but she bit the inside of her cheek and looked away. She would not eat it, it was not for her. She wished bitterly in that moment that she had had a pocket. If only she did not have to carry it in her hand, so easily lifted to her mouth, it would have been so much easier for her not to give into temptation.

She shook her head, clearing it, and once again she felt the fullness of the spring water. It helped her to resist tasting the silver fruit.

The Garden was placed on top of a hill, covered in grass and a few trees. The hill was surrounded with mountains on all sides, except for the east, where she could see nothing, but a wide mountain pass. Through it ran a river that seemed to have sprouted from the hill. Perhaps it had the same spring as the fountain within the Garden.

She decided to follow the river. Rivers usually lead to people, and people could help her get to Cair Paravel and they could tell her what year it was, who ruled and if any trouble was at foot. And if she truly was in the Western Wild, the river could very well be the Great River if it ran on long enough and in that case it would lead her into well known territory. In fact, it would lead her to where the Beaver's Dam used to be, (Now the location of the castle of the Telmarin Kings), and through the Western Woods, where Mr. Tumnus used to live.

Perhaps she would find help in Caspian's old castle. She could not know, not without knowing how many years had passed.

She ran beside the river, trying to keep from worrying and trying to keep her thoughts away from the apple.

Its sweet smell filled her nose with every breath she took.

So for hours she forced herself to continue running.

She slowed to a walking pace when she began to tire, looking around for some place to spend the night. The effects of the water from the fountain had worn off some hours ago, leaving her doubly tempted to eat from the apple. Her cheeks had been bitten bloody as she had tried to distract herself and her stomach sloshed uncomfortably because she had decided to fill it with the cool river water. It was clean enough, this close to the source, but it had done little to ward off her hunger. Constantly she felt the apple in her hand. Constantly she smelled it. Constantly she had to bite her lip, cheek or tongue to keep from tasting it. When even that did not help, she forced herself to remember the time where she had tried using a spell to make herself beautiful and how Aslan had reacted. The shame of that episode had this far been strong enough for her to keep her determination.

But as she continued walking and as her shoes began to gnaw at her heels, she began wondering. Just one bite. What would it hurt really? Aslan would not mind, it could not be his will that she should starve and hurt-

Each time the thoughts started, she battled them away.

She thought of Edmund almost dying, back when they first came to Narnia after the final battle with the White Witch. His wounds at the first battle of Beruna had been horrible and would have killed him without the juice of the fire flower and Aslan's blessing. She thought of Aslan's sacrifice upon the stone table. She thought of all the people who died there and the many more who fell at the war of Deliverance where Caspian fought his uncle to free the Narnians. Still, she had to fight not to dig into the apple with her nails and lick the juice from her fingertips.

 _Just one tiny bite_ her thoughts continued to whisper.

She followed the river over plains of withered grass, resting between the mountains. Then she followed it to the edge of a cliff, creating a vertical wall from which the river fell as a roaring waterfall into a large lake at the bottom of the cliff side. There she stopped to stare, for standing at the edge, but a step from a deadly fall, she could see almost all of Narnia.

Lucy felt tears rise to her eyes.

Beneath her she saw the Cauldron Pool,- she had been right in assuming the river to be the Great River,- further towards the north she saw the treetops of the Western Woods, straight ahead stretched the plains between the Great River and the Telmar River and further out she could see the great Frozen Lake, unfrozen as it had yet to become winter.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself before she studied the face of the cliff side. It was almost flat, but there seemed to be a ledge forming a path some of the way down. She could not see if it continued all the way to the ground, far, far below, but she had little choice. If she could not make it down this way, she would have to pass through the mountains, something that would surely kill her dressed as lightly as she was and with no weapons or tools. Falling from this vertical cliff side would kill her too, though. She might survive if she went down with the waterfall, but that was also highly unlikely as the force of the water would slam her to the bottom, which might make it impossible for her to get back up to the surface. She would most likely drown and definitely lose the apple.

The sun however, was about to go down and she knew that she would have little time to get down before she lost the light. Deciding that a night in the cold was preferable to falling to her death trying to climb the cliff in darkness, she looked around to see if she could find shelter anywhere.

There were no trees she could sleep beneath within view, nor did there seem to be any sort of caves or the like. To be true, she had little choice but to sleep on the plain, amongst the withered grass. So apple in hand, she set out to collect as much grass as she could, building herself a little nest on the ground. She made sure that she was far enough from the cliff's edge, not to have to worry about it.

Then she laid down, pulled her legs up and hugged her arms to her chest like a puppy. Slowly she drifted into sleep, too tired and her body too exhausted to do much of anything else. The autumn air was cool, but in the last light of the dying sun she did not feel it.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

"Thirteen sacrifices on the stones!" howled the werewolf towards the sky as he stood tall above the tied up leopard, lifting the stone knife high up over his head. "Thirteen sacrifices to call upon her name!" the mad creature cried, foam flying from its wide mouth, clinging and dripping from its fangs. Around him, the rest of the dark creatures who had gathered on this moonlit night yelled in ecstatic madness.

"Let it be done!" they yelled, screamed and howled. "Let it be done!"

The beast howled once more as his companions stomped and clapped and cheered. Then he threw his starved body forward, plunging the stone blade into the heart of the leopard beneath him, growling with pleasure as the feline whimpered. Deep red blood flowed from the wound and the cat shivered once, before entering death's cold grasp.

" _ **Jadis."**_ the werewolf called, his voice barely a whisper.

And from the stone knife in its chest, frost began to spread. Ice frosted its pelt and moved over the ground, reaching for the trees around the clearing where evil beasts had drawn together. The blood flowing from the leopard froze too, becoming black and hard, before rising up above the corpse. By unspoken orders, it shaped itself till it had the form of a tall, majestic woman. Then it seemed to explode, black spikes of ice shooting out between the collected creatures. Some, they hit. Others were left unscathed.

In the middle of the carnage stood a woman, white as freshly fallen snow, and every bit as terrifying as all legends had lead them to believe. Every bit as imposing and horrible. And every bit as beautiful if not even more so.

Her emotionless eyes fell upon the werewolf who had sacrificed thirteen great cats to free her from the ice where Aslan had bound her.

"You." she said, her voice both freezing and scorching. "What is your name?"

The wolf covered before her, performing an ungraceful bow.

"I am Famine, your majesty." he told her, his voice barely a hoarse growl.

"I see. I know you." she smiled at him. "You may serve me, Famine."

She looked around, before pointing her long pale finger at an old and ragged woman.

"And you?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"I am Plague, your majesty." the woman said, cackling. "And I am at your service once more."

The queen smiled, finding that her faithful servants had remained loyal. At last she turned to the large black Minotaur standing somewhat on the edge of the group, as if the rest of the gathered creatures had drawn away from him instinctively. His black armour shone matte in the night, his horns tipped with steel to ensure the most damage possible, should he choose to use them. His eyes were red like newly shed blood and on his back was a giant claymore, wrapped in pelts from various Narnian animals he had killed for sport.

"And you, my General?" the Queen asked, her voice honey sweet.

"I am war." the bull answered. "And I will be at your command."

The dark creatures howled with joy at the return of their queen. None of them cared that their own comrades lay dying from the ice missiles, and none of them noticed the tiny shadow fleeing beneath the bushes, running off to report back to his leader. They continued their joyful celebration as frost crept over the ground, spreading throughout all of Narnia.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

When Lucy woke, she found that she could barely move. During the night her body heat had slowly left her as the air cooled around her, making her limbs stiff and numb. Crying with pain, she forced them to move, stretching her bended legs despite the burning pain that followed the motion. She was covered in tiny crystals where the evening dew had turned to frost. Sitting up, she started swinging her arms back and forward, trying to get her blood flowing. Burning tears ran down her frozen cheeks. As soon as she could move her arms well enough, she began rubbing her hands against her shoulders. She needed to get her blood running. The day before had not seemed cold enough for there to fall frost like this! And though the leaves on the trees were orange and brown, they did not look to be so far along for winter to be arriving.

Horrified she looked at fingers, adrenalin making it easier for her to move as she franticly kicked and rubbed and did everything to get her body warmed up again. Her nails where blue and black, her fingertips a dark purple and even as pain raked her body and her skin burned, they remained void of any sensation.

Heaving sobs of panic made it hard for her to breathe as she tried clenching her hands into fists, anything to get her fingers moving.

When she finally managed to bend them, her panicked sobs turned to cries of relief. Slowly she got her blood running, but as she did so, shivers began to take over her body so that her teeth clattered so hard that she tasted blood.

She forced her tired muscles to help her stand, crying from the pain it caused her, and cursed herself for not having taken the chance at the cliff the evening before. She stomped around the place she had been sleeping, continuing to wave and swing her arms, letting her blood run all the way to her fingertips. The pain was excruciating. As her skin started to thaw, it broke, blood running down her arms, shoulders and hands, staining her nightgown red.

That was the moment where her eyes found the silver apple.

It was laid in the midst of her collected grass, shining silver in the first light of the morning.

One bite would take away her pain and make sure that her fingers would not be permanently damaged. One bite. Just one.

She crumbled to the ground, on her knees, her sobs having turned into quiet tears. For all of her visits to Narnia she had never felt this cold and hurt, nor this alone. Not when Peter lost her in the river and she had to fight to get back to shore, for her siblings had been there when she managed it. And back then she had had a warm fur coat to wrap around herself.

On all her other adventures in this magical land, her family had been there too.

But this time Aslan had called her alone, and left her far from anything as could get.

Still shivering she hugged herself, staring at the apple.

Then she took a deep breath, reached out and picked it up with clumsy fingers. It felt warm against her skin, something that struck her as strange and somewhat reminded her of how Aslan's breath felt.

She bit her cheek, shook her head, and laid the apple on the ground. Then she tore at her nightgown, ripping the lower cloth off and leaving it at a length that left her legs bare. The now loose cloth she tied around her waist like a belt, folded so that a pocket was made. She put the apple in that pocket, before rising to her feet once again and drying away her tears.

She still could not feel her fingertips, but she could open and close her hands and that would have to be enough for climbing down. At least the pain kept her from feeling her hunger.

When she had come to Narnia with her siblings, and later her cousin, she had been a child. She had needed them to do things that she could not because of her limited size and experience. Few Narnians would have followed her into battle the way they did Peter, or given her their trust the way they had Susan. Even Edmund had been older and seemed more reliable than she when they first arrived. No, her strength had been in winning the hearts of the people with her innocence.

Now she had returned as an adult and alone.

She walked to the cliff, considering whether to remove her stiff and English shoes before beginning to climb. She decided against it as she was still shivering and hurting all over. She might lose the feeling in her fingertips, and she would not risk what was left of her toes. At least she could feel those, burning and hurting within their leather prisons.

She continued to where she remembered the ledge being, considering its width for just a second before starting the descend down it.

At first it was wide enough for her to walk normally, but soon she had to go sideways instead, her back against the cliff. Her feet felt heavy like blocks of ice, and even though she trailed her fingers against the wall of the cliff, she could barely feel where she touched and already she had several scrapes on her fingers from the rough stone. The apple bobbed against her hip every time she took a step, assuring her that she had not lost it.

Although her face was turned out towards the view of Narnia below her, she could not bring herself to focus on it. Instead she looked to gage how far the ledge would allow her to descend and whether or not it was stable beneath her feet. As she continued down the limited path, she felt her legs and arms shaking from over exertion. Perhaps her muscles had taken too much damage from the cold to function properly without time and warmth to heal. Her head hurt, and her stomach was past the point of growling.

From time to time a pebble or a stone would loosen and fall, threatening to crumble the ledge beneath her and sending adrenalin pumping through her blood. She welcomed it, for it brought warmth with it, something she was in desperate need of. The sun had climbed the horizon, but still frost lingered everywhere on the ground.

"White." Lucy whispered, breathing hard. Her muscles were trembling though she had barely made it ten feet down. It must be the after effect of her cool down. Her vision was beginning to become blurry as well. _Hunger_ , her mind whispered. _Fever._

The waterfall roared, plunging straight down to the lake bellow.

One bite of the apple would warm her, she knew. One bite would remove her hurts and leave her full and healthy. One bite.

Staring down, she looked at the Cauldron Pool below.

If she fell into its waters, she would most likely die. If the air was this cold, surely the water would be even more so. The fall alone could kill her for she felt as if she was standing on top of a skyscraper. Though she doubted that the cliff was truly as high as one of the tall London buildings, she had no doubt that it was tall enough to kill. A dizzy spell hit her like a hammer to the forehead, and she had to cling to the side of the cliff for several minutes before it cleared even a little bit.

She knew that she would fall. Her fevered head told her so.

If she wanted to live she would have to take a bite of the silver apple, despite the bird's warning. It would not be truly selfish, would it? To heal herself with a fruit that could save others? Just one bite.

But in her heart she felt that it would indeed be selfish and instead of trying to follow the ledge down any further, she threw herself from it, trying to make it so that she would land as far from the lake's shore as possible, in the middle of its waters. This way, the depth of the water might serve to save her.

And so she fell, leaving behind only a faint whisper.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

The proud company of mice held their tails high as they marched into the throne room, bowing deeply for their king.

Caspian suppressed a smile at the sight. Even though he held the mice in his highest regard, he still found it incredible that such small creatures, though bigger than normal mice, could hold so much pride within them.

Rapachap, who had taken over the position as the leader of the mice after Reepicheep went to Aslan's country, stepped forward.

"Your majesty." he said, his voice serious and his whiskers stiff. Something something must have scared him for him to look like that. "As soon as we heard of the trouble in the north, and the missing scouts, we went to see if a daring rescue was required or perhaps a bold scouting to assure that no enemies had stepped upon the ground of Narnia."

Caspian nodded, despite his surprise. He was ashamed to realise that he had forgotten that the mice where a resource he could draw upon if needed, but to be fair, they were small and perhaps easily overseen because of it. This quality and their size would make them excellent spies, if their honour would have allowed for it. Caspian knew they would do spy if he asked them, but he would not force them to go against their nature in such a way and so he would never ask. It was this very fact that had made the mice run north. They would do anything for a king such as Caspian who respected them and their honour almost as much as they respected each other. Caspian had no knowledge of this though, and therein lay the reason for his surprise.

"Your efforts are welcomed." Caspian told the mouse, knowing how much they appreciated true courtly behaviour and way of speaking. "Tell me, what did you find in the north to startle you so?" he asked Rapachap.

Rapachap bowed his head in sorrow.

"My scout, Rikeety, went into the Ettinsmoor hills, close by the old ruins of the Witch's castle.- If you would allow him to speak, Sire?" Rapachap asked, his whiskers stiff as ever.

Caspian nodded his approval and Rikeety stepped forward, making a quick and courtly bow before beginning his tale.

"I found there a forest whereto dark creatures flocked." he told the king and the assembled advisors, before describing how the werewolf had sacrificed the leopard to summon forth the White Witch.

Caspian felt sick at the mention of Famine and Plague, remembering all too well the time where he had almost freed the Witch himself, back when he battled his uncle. At that time it had been a werewolf and a wicked old witch who had come to him with honeyed tongues, claiming a salvation to all of his troubles and an end to war. Fear made his heart beat faster, but he did his best to hide it. He would have to appear calm, so as to not spread panic.

"In the end, I am afraid I had to retreat to report all of this back to you, your Majesty, or I would have jumped to kill the Witch where she stood should it be the death of me." Rikeety ended his story.

Caspian did not doubt that the mouse would have attacked the White Witch, had he not had to warn his king. The mice where so brave it could be called stupidity.

"I am grateful for your return and your news." he told Rikeety, before addressing all of the mice. "As am I for your most honourable work, you may very well have saved countless lives by bringing us words of the White Witch's return." he smiled at them. "So please, do not be so hasty in wanting to throw away your lives. Narnia has need of you yet, and I would grieve to lose such loyal warriors."

The mice bowed to him yet again,- Did they never tire of doing so?- their whiskers shivering with pride and pleasure at his words. If possible, they held their tails even higher than before.

Caspian rose from his throne, noting the three empty ones as he did so. Yet again he wondered how he alone was supposed to do what had taken four regents to do in the past. But then he looked out at his assembled court, the leaders of his country, his advisors, his generals and his friends. He was not alone, he realised.

He straightened his back.

"A time of war is coming." he told the people in his throne room. "If the legends of the White Witch are accurate, she will be an enemy much tougher than my uncle and the evil that roamed the seven islands. Her armies will be of our own people, unlike the human armies of our neighbouring countries. We will not have peace from her as easily as we did with them."

He was met with serious faces, some showing worry and concern, others pale with fear. Even the new Narnians (earlier Telmarins) who had been raised not to believe in magic and old Narnians, had seen and learned enough over the last couple of years to know that magic was in fact real and dangerous. And beautiful, he reminded himself, thinking of all the magical creatures and things he had seen on his adventures.

"Lord Astavit, you will prepare the storages. If we shall battle, we shall do so well fed.- Send as many men as we can spare to help with the harvest." Caspian ordered, turning to Drinian, the commanding officer in his army. "Drinian, ready the soldiers. Start training camps for any young or old who would join our armies. Lady Goldstream, if you'd please send out declarations to all towns and runners to the forest dwellers? Make sure that the people are warned, but please, word them carefully. I will not have panic." He took a deep breath collecting his thoughts for a second. Warn the people, ready the armies, make sure the harvest is taken care of- what more? "Generals, honoured council, if you would please meet me in the council's room in an hour's time, so that we may discuss the details of defence?" Then he turned to Trumpkin. "Trumpkin, I know we have lost scouts in the north, but would you send out new ones to keep us updated on the movements of the White Witch?"

Trumpkin nodded.

"As soon as I can, your Majesty." he said formally.

The mice stepped forward once more, Rapachap a few steps in front of the others.

"We would be honoured to, your Majesty." he said. "As we already know where and how to find this wicked witch, it would be the most logical course of action."

Caspian nodded.

"So be it." he agreed. "Thank you, Rapachap. Without you, we would not have had this early warning. You do the mice great honour."

They bowed again, elegant as always.

Caspian turned to the rest of the court.

"I know you have your own grounds and families to take care of, people in your employ and fields to harvest. Go, take care of them and prepare what defence you can. Messengers will be send out as soon as the council and I decide on our next course of action." He gave them all a reassuring smile, only his eyes revealing his concern. After a few seconds of mumbling between them, people left the throne room to see to his orders or prepare for the war council he had summoned. Caspian waited till the hall was almost empty, before taking his leave out the small door behind the thrones.

There he allowed himself a moment of weakness, as he leaned his back against the wall and let his face relax. Worry creased his forehead as he thought of the White Witch. Sometimes he still heard her tempting whispers in his dreams, like the shadow of a nightmare. Then he pulled himself together and hurried through the hidden corridors to the council chamber.

Twice he had gotten the aid of the Kings and Queens of old. First at the Deliverance War, where Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy had answered to his call, summoned by Susan's old horn. How he wished for their council now where he was suddenly about to face their old enemy. High King Peter would have known how to defeat her, while Caspian had no idea. He could only try and have faith in the Great Lion. Like Trumpkin had said that night on the bastion, not yet two weeks past; He could only do his best, pray to Aslan and hope.

So hope he would.

"May Aslan protect us." he said to the loneliness of the abandoned corridor, unknowingly echoing the whisper of a young English woman as she fell towards her death.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**


	3. Chp 3 - Casualties

_**3\. – Casualties**_

* * *

At first the water enveloped her like a mother's embrace, but instantly it turned into a purgatory hell as its icy cold pressed against her skin like a thousand burning needles. Everything was on fire, every nerve, every piece of her, as the water dragged her down deeper into the lake. She gasped at the burning cold and pulled in a deep breath of water, that set her lungs aflame. She coughed and cramped, her legs kicking franticly but bringing her no closer to the surface. The pull of the waterfall was far too strong. Through eyes half pressed shut, she saw swirls of red in the water, but did not realise that it was her own blood. Her broken skin had sprung open again when she hit the water.

Slowly her body gave up the fight, surrendering to the burning cold. Blackness encased her as she drifted deeper into the waters and the darkness. In the end she did not even feel the cold, as her light flirtation with unconsciousness became the real thing.

Everything grew silent around her.

A single drop fell from the great cat's chin and hit the water as the feline wandered quietly over its surface. Ringlets spread from where the drop fell, leaving perfect calm in their wake. In the end even the waterfall grew silent. When the Lion reached the middle of the lake he stopped, lowering his head to the calm and mirror-like barrier and touching his nose to the cool water. Then he lifted his head and waited for a second.

From beneath the water a woman floated to the surface, a stained and torn nightgown wavering around her like a torn battle flag. When she reached the surface, he lowered his head again to breathe on her. And from his breath came warmth and life.

The torn skin on her arms merged together, leaving only pale silver scars behind. Her chest, before stilled in death, rose and fell with the breath of life, her cheeks growing rosy and healthy. Her eyes opened, confusion apparent in those clear blue marbles. Then Lucy saw Aslan and a smile replaced her confusion.

A deep laughter sounded in his chest, like thunder, before he shook his mane and let loose an untamed roar.

Lucy gasped as she felt herself float to a stand, her dress changing around her and her hair drying before her feet lowered to stand solidly on top of the surface. She laughed with innocent wonder as Aslan's and Narnia's magic tore itself from her and she leaned forward to kiss the Lion's forehead.

"I missed you, Aslan." she murmured, tears springing to her eyes.

"And I you, Lucy." he said, his deep voice sincere and calming.

She looked down at the water for a second, then at her newly healed shoulders and now new and clean dress. The belt of cloth and the apple still hung around her waist, despite the replacement of her nightgown.

"I thought I drowned." she said.

"You almost did." Aslan said. "I am sorry."

"Why?" she asked as they began wandering across the lake towards the shore. She twisted her fingers into the Lion's mane, relishing in the familiar and yet almost forgotten sensation of it.

"You have seen the secret garden." he told her. "And you have brought with you a silver apple from the tree within."

Lucy nodded, listening and trying to understand.

"The apples hold great magic and for one to be proven worthy, they have to face the trials of the fruit. For this apple you have cried, bled, starved, frozen and burned. For this apple you chose to give your life, although you knew you could have been saved if you had taken no more than one bite of it." Aslan turned his head towards her, just as she stepped on shore, and amber eyes met blue. "You have done well Lucy, and this apple is now yours to do with as you will."

Lucy gasped as she realised what that meant. She could eat it and gain immortality, heal those around her or gift it to somebody if she wanted. Suddenly she felt as if the apple grew heavier in its pocket, becoming more powerful by her realising that she now had permission to use it.

"The choice is yours." Aslan said as he let go of a large breath. When it reached the orange leaves on the trees around them released their hold on their branches and danced through the wind he made. Lucy looked at the magical sight and when she looked towards Aslan once more, she found that he had disappeared.

The apple hung against her hip- still in the torn piece of her nightgown despite Aslan's redressing-, she could feel it, but it was as if the starvation it had filled her with had vanished in the wake of her near death experience. She shivered, Aslan's warmth beginning to leave her as the breeze continued to rustle the leaves. The new dress that Aslan had clothed her in was warmer than her nightgown, but it was hardly warm. Still, she thought with a chuckle as she studied the dress, the Headmistress would have little trouble finding something to complain about. It was beautiful, but it left her shoulders bare and was in no way proper English fashion.

It was perfect Narnian though.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

Cair Paravel was an anthill of people running back and forth, performing one task after another and readying the Narnians for war. Reports were running in daily from the mice and other scouts,- Jadis was collecting an army to the north, reclaiming the old ruins of her castle and killing anyone unlucky or foolish enough to enter her newly claimed territory. Narnian refugees from all over the Ettinsmore and all the way to the rivers were fleeing south or taking shelter in the city surrounding Cair Paravel. The castle of the Telmarin Kings were suddenly the northern most stand against the Witch's forces and the Narnian armies had made it their quarters. More lay in camp outside the castle walls, tents revealing more than a thousand warriors to be near.

So of course, that was where Caspian was headed when he left Cair Paravel that morning. Normally he would have arrived together with the first companies of the army, but he had had to send Drinian in his place when there proved to be problems with the harvest. The early frost had caused a rot to spread through most of the wheat and barley. Fruit had fallen from their branches a whole month before they were supposed to be ripe and for some reason a lot of the livestock had taken ill. Caspian had been buried from the ground and up with work, trying to secure food for his people throughout the winter. He had all but emptied the storages in Cair Paravel, spending whatever gold he could spare to get a trade agreement in house with the neighbouring countries, mainly Archenland. But his current poverty would bring the Narnians bread and vegetables through the winter and that had been the goal.

He was lucky that the Narnians themselves demanded little pay for service in the army when it came to defending their country. They wanted only enough that they could feed themselves and their families, who would be robbed of their labour during the span of the war. That and the promise that their loved ones would be taken care of, should they themselves perish in battle. Caspian always felt sick when the Chancellor reminded him that they had to put money aside for those purposes. He hated that he could not protect all of his people, as was his duty as their king. He would gladly give double the amount for them to return alive, but that was not how the world worked.

The roads were as hectic as the town itself and filled with refugees from the north. Caspian had of course hear reports about it, but he found it to be a bit overwhelming when he and the second Company of his army rode from the city, his guards keeping close tabs on their surroundings. Even Caspian, clad in his trusty plate mail and with King Peter's sword, Wolf's Bane at his side, knew that vigilance was necessary. Not that he did not trust his own skills in battle enough to ride without guards, but he knew that his people would feel safer, knowing that their king was too.

Tantris, his current stallion, fallen after Destrier and a fiesty mare named Blossom, danced beneath him. The stallion had gotten little exercise during the week where Caspian had made the trading arrangements and wanted to let loose and run. Caspian wanted to let it do so, but he had a feeling that his guards would complain. Though the weather was perfect for a gallop, cool and clear, the men were clad in heavy armour and their horses saddled with their most essential equipment. The rest had been sent ahead in wagons and should already have been unpacked in the camp outside the Telmarin Castle.

Unlike his charcoal black father, Tantris took after his mother. His coat was a dark flaxen colour with a reddish chestnut shine to his fur. His mane and tail however, was as black as a starless night and his build was strong and large like Destrier's. He had the speed of Blossom and her temper too, and he was more of a weapon in battle than the sword by Caspian's side, kicking and killing anybody foolish enough to get too close to the Narnian king. And he loved to run, something that Caspian normally enjoyed. At this moment he had to use most of his strength to keep the horse from breaking into a straight gallop along the way, leaving his soldiers in the dust. Instead he forced his mount to continue the steady trot they had kept since they left Paravel.

It took them no less than a day and a half to reach the Castle of the Telmarin Kings, with a single night spend in camp beside the Great river. Already by dinner time on the second day, the king and second Company entered the tent camp outside of the Telmarin Castle, the Narnian standard raised high in the air and a fanfare declaring his arrival. Already people had left their tents to see the king arrive, alarmed by the the watch guards earlier signals.

Tantris pranced, enjoying the attention and Caspian, who was used to his horse's stupid habits, held on easily. He could not deny that he did enjoy it a little, knowing how impressive a figure he must cut when Tantris pulled this trick of his. As soon as Tantris had his front legs safely planted on the ground again, Caspian swung himself from the stallions back, pushing his cloak over his shoulder as he did so, and turned to Drinian who had come to greet him.

"Your Majesty." Drinian said, bowing his head. As always he insisted on formalities when in public. Caspian did not mind it. It was expected of them to play these parts, so he nodded in greeting and smiled at his old time friend.

"Drinian." he greeted in turn.

Drinian smiled back, waving over a young centaur man who had been standing a few steps behind him.

"This is Midwinter." Drinian presented the centaur. "He will show the second company to their assigned tents, as well as point out the latrines and the tent that serves as mess here."

Caspian smiled at the young man, giving him a nod in greeting.

Midwinter blushed at the kings friendly greeting and hurried to greet the commanding officer of Second Company, soon leading the men and their horses away.

"Your old chambers have been readied for you, and the generals will be in war room after dinner, so you have about an hour to wash up and eat." Drinian told Caspian, less formal now greetings had been taken care of. "If you have time, you might want to take a peek at the scouts' newest reports. I have left copies of everything on the table in your room, next to your writing supplies- And I have to warn you. Lord Astavit refuses to let you put off the matter of your inheritance a moment longer,- you know you'll have to choose an heir before they'll allow you anywhere near the battlefield."

Caspian made a grudging sound of agreement.

"Any real skirmishes yet?" he asked, changing the subject.

Drinian shook his head.

"A cavalry division ran into a group of black dwarves near the Copper Groove, but the dwarves hid underground before any contact could be made. A centaur fell into a pitfall on their way back to camp, and is now in the infirmary. It is doubtful that she'll return to battle, the pitfall was filled with stakes." Drinian told him. "Other than traps and the occasional arrow fired from our side or theirs, we have had no contact at all. They keep infiltrating the area between here and Ettinsmore, but flee at the first sight of our soldiers. They seem to only target civilians, but even those they don't seem determined to kill."

"Any sightings of the Witch?" Caspian asked then.

"None, except for what Rikeety saw." Drinian answered. "There are rumours that she revived without her magic, but we can't depend on that."

"No, that would be far too easy." Caspian agreed. "And even if it is true, she is still the most dangerous enemy this country has ever faced."

They fell silent after that as Drinian escorted Caspian to his chambers. It was his old ones, back from when he was but a boy. After his Uncle's defeat most had wanted their new king to move into the Lord's chambers until Cair Paravel was rebuild, but Caspian refused to use the rooms of his father's murder. Instead his old rooms had been redecorated and expanded, so that the Narnians would not complain that they were not adequate. They loved their king and wanted all the best for him, and Caspian loved his people and felt likewise.

There he washed his face and exchanged his plate mail for leather armour with the help of a servant. It was more comfortable than plate and lighter, though still stiff and uncomfortable. But he did not dare move without some protection, since it would not be the first time somebody had sent assassins after him during wartime. After that the boy who seemed to be his assigned manservant hurried to fetch food from the castle's kitchens while Caspian looked over the reports on his table, getting to know the movements of the Witch's troops. Drinian had included a map showing where traps had been found, as well as a list of the current casualties and wounded troops. Another list told Caspian where the five Companies of the Narnian army where placed. First, Third and now Second was here, preparing for war with the Witch. Fourth were back at Cair Paravel, its divisions being sent around the country on patrols and helping the refugees. Fifth were placed at the border to Archenland in case king Ram the Seventeenth decided to expand his territories while Caspian were occupied in the north. Not that Caspian thought it particularly likely, but he knew that it was necessary to be on his guard. Most of the wars before his voyage had been with Archenland and the bandits who drifted over that border. That and their current peace treaty was delicate to say the least.

Caspian often had to bite his tongue to conceal a bitter laugh when the young lordlings of the Narnian nobles talked about the great battles and how they would like to prove themselves in war. They had no idea how much paperwork it really was and how little time was actually spend fighting. Hopefully they would learn and abandon their lust for battle before they had to take over their fathers' places as lords of Narnia. Hopefully. They also had no idea of the constant headache it was to sort out informations and movements of the armies and securing the country so that it would not fall to pieces even should they win the war.

The thought of the young cockerels brought his mind to his other problem. Lord Astavit and the rest of his council wanted him to choose an heir to take his place, should he fall in battle. He knew that it was needed. With no apparent heir to the Narnian throne, the country would most likely be ravaged by civil war if he died. That being if they first survived the war with the White Witch. Much like the treaty with Archenland, the peace between the Old and New Narnians was fragile. They had begun building a friendship during the years of Caspian's reign, but three hundred years of suppression where not easily forgotten. Caspian doubted that they could agree upon choosing a king.

He would have chosen an heir years ago, if it had not been for the fact that none sprung to mind. The councillors were too invested in their own gain or lands to care about the country as a whole. Drinian was too stiff and had little of the diplomatic qualities needed. The Lords were much the same as the councillors (as many of them were) and he could not choose from the Old Narnians. Aslan had made it clear, as had many others back when he became king, that there had to be a Son of Adam on the throne. Or Daughter of Eve, for that sake. It was one of the arguments when the Old Narnians had chosen him as their leader during the rebellion. No, his heir would have to be a New Narnian of noble descent for him or her to be accepted by all of Narnia. In theory he could chose either a man or a woman, as Kings and Queens had equal power in Narnia, but the Telmarin descendants among the New Narnians had an inherited idea that women were not as powerful as men. They had slowly let go of that thought as Caspian appointed more women to his council, still, he feared that they would protest against a female heir to the crown. So a New Narnian man of noble descent, who would care for the people and the land as a whole, had diplomatic skills as well as a mind suited for strategics and preferably somebody who could defend themselves in battle. Funny how those seemed to be in short supply around his court.

He rubbed his temples, unsure of what to do.

He had barely finished his food when his manservant, who he discovered was named Joel, came to fetch him with a message that the generals were awaiting him in the war room.

With a heavy sigh, he rose to join them.

Someday he would find and strangle the moron who spread the rumour that it was great to be king.

The war council lasted till long after dark and then he had to return to his chambers to go over the reports from Cair Paravel that had been brought from his regular council for him to read through and reply to with permits and whatever else they needed of him to ensure that everything continued running smoothly back in the capital. After reading through everything he wrote a short letter to the council telling them that he was considering several promising prospects for the position as heir. That was a lie, but he had to tell them something on the subject. He added his viewpoints to several of the issues they had shared with him in their reports, such as distribution of the first shipment of wheat from Achenland, telling them to keep it stored within Cair Paravel for the time being. The rest of the things they wrote him about he simply gave his agreement to, trusting them with the business of the country. Then he sealed the letter and asked Joel to deliver it to the scribes in the castle, with the message that this letter and the resume of the war council should be sent to Cair Paravel with messenger Hawk.

The messenger Hawks were Old Narnian hawks who still retained the ability to think and speak. They had been an invaluable help during the Giant-revolts and the wars with Telmar and Archenland, as they could cross the land faster than any horse. Only thing was that they would not fly past dark and before first light. The scribes had till dawn to collect the reports and important letters to the Council in Paravel, but at least that meant that they would most likely still be awake.

When Joel hurried off with the letter, Caspian stumbled into bed, finally allowed to sleep for a bit.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

Rimity was proud to say that she was the niece of the great Reepicheep who travelled to Aslan's country. In fact she was so proud of it that she said so quite often, making all the other young mice shake their heads and wave their tails as they became every bit as impressed as the first time she told them.

Therefore it was not vanity that lead her to oil her whiskers every morning, wash her tail and polish her claws. In fact it was nothing more than proper, for one with as fine an heritage as she to make sure that she always looked her best. She normally wore a azure blue feather on top of her head as the red feathers were reserved for the members of the mice-company her uncle created, though surely they would let her join when she returned from this mission. Around her waist she wore a shining and well polished belt, in which there hang a silver rapier that Reepicheep had gifted her mother with before he left his sisters and brothers to join the Voyage of the Dawntreader.

This night however, she had covered her normally smooth and soft fur with charcoal dust and exchanged the blue feather for nothing.

Rimity was on a mission! A glorious mission! Well, it would have been a lot more glorious if she could actually tell somebody about it, but her other Uncle, Rapachap, had told her to stay at home with her mother and to stay away from the battlefront. And she had intended to, truly she had, but then she had heard the rumours that the Witch might not be the one behind the attacks in the north and that Rikeety had seen wrong. Even worse so, that he had lied!

She had been furious, for no mice would ever lie! And least of all Rikeety, brave, handsome Rikeety. Her little heart skipped a beat at the very thought of him. Oh, he had such a pretty honey golden fur that just begged to be stroked and such long proud whiskers! And his tail! It was so manly and elegant. Rimity would almost have given up anything, even her relation to Reepicheep, _well almost_ , for just one kiss from that mouse.

Her tiny pink tongue flickered out to wet her suddenly dry lips, before she hurried onwards through the forest towards the castle to the west of the Ettinsmore. She would have to be quick, sneaking into the Witch's castle and then hurrying back across the border to the Telmarin Castle. Her fur, covered in the black dust, did not shine at all as she flittered over the stony plain in front of the scary castle. Up, up, the wall she ran, her clever paws and fingers finding tiny places to take hold of as she hurried up to the bastion of the old ruins. They seemed terribly defensible, but not impenetrable for a brave mouse like her. She wondered why her uncle, Rapachap, had not had some of his mice sneak in to spy. Surely they would have been able to do this too!

Or was it that Rimity was just better and more courageous? She could be, she thought, but there was a bit of doubt in her mind.

Maybe this had been a bad idea, she wondered, shivering as she reached the top of the wall, hiding in a shadow of a broken stone brick. But she had come too far to turn back now! So she continued her quick run, sneaking past a great big Taurus standing guard on the bastion and jumping with great agility from the wall and down a small building on the inside. Then she scurried along the wall on the inside, making her way around the courtyard to the castle itself, avoiding the torch light and the troops resting outside it. Up, up, she climbed up the castle, finding a window with shattered glass to enter through. In the darkness of the apparently abandoned room, she took a break to gain her breath and to try and still her pounding heart.

She had made it right into the middle of the Witch's army! She was _inside_ her _castle!_ A gasp left her as she realised her own accomplishment and her heart swelled with pride.

Surely this was because she was the brave and beautiful niece of the legendary Reepicheep!

She saw her own reflection in the broken glass and smiled to herself. Even this coat of black dust suited her! It made her brown eyes seem lighter and added mystery to her beauty.

Oh, if only Rikeety could see her now. Surely he would fall in love with her. _How could he not_?

The thought of Rikeety brought her mind back to her current mission and she continued inside the castle, opening the door carefully and soundlessly despite having to climb the door frame to reach the handle. Sticking her head out, she saw and heard nobody close, and therefore she continued out into the hallway outside.

She ran through the castle, her clever, clever paws making next to no sound upon the stone floors as she followed whatever sounds she could hear. The sound of metal against metal, of many people rustling and growling. Then she heard something that made ice run down her spine and she stopped dead in her tracks, shivering.

It was a woman's voice.

A beautiful voice.

A terrible voice.

Rimity's every instinct screamed at her to turn tail and run. To leave the castle the way she came and never come back. Biting her tiny paw with her strong rodent teeth, she tasted blood and forced herself to remain standing. Slowly she continued, careful and terrified, but unwilling to flee. The niece of Reepicheep did not flee.

She made it to a balcony above a throne hall filled with dark creatures. On a stone throne with no ornaments but frozen spikes of ice, sat the White Witch. Her hands clasped the armrests on the sides of her throne, her eyes gliding over her collected subjects as she smiled a cruel smile.

Rimity swallowed, another shiver of terror tearing through her small body at the sight. How could anyone ever defeat this creature? This woman of ice and fear and utter evil? Rimity suddenly wished that Rikeety was a liar. She wished more than anything that brave Rikeety had lied to the king and broken all honour codes of the mice. She wished that what she saw was not true. She felt a slight twinge of shame at the thought, but before she had time to acknowledge the feeling, the White Witch turned her head and stared straight up at the balcony and Rimety.

Her eyes where white too. A black pupil stared at her from inside a white iris with an almost invisible blue rim.

Rimity threw herself back, unable to keep in the high pitched squeal of fear that filled her lungs. She got to her legs, turning to flee, only to stop, her heart almost stopping together with her. A black wolf had snook up on her from behind and was now standing in front of her, drooling as it pulled air into its ragged and starved body. Its ribs where visible beneath the tattered fur. No doubt that she would be less than a mouthful for this creature.

Another scream escaped her as she sprang beneath the wolf, trying to make it past it by going under its legs, but failing as its large jaw closed around her body. She felt her bones break when it shook her, the pain unimaginable as she was flung into the wall.

The wolf laughed, a rough rasping sound that was echoed from the creatures beneath the balcony.

"Did you really think that you could sneak in here?" the wolf growled at her, though she barely heard it through the pain and her pounding heart.

She fought to get her legs back under her, failing as the wolf used one of its paws to slap her. She cried as she felt her broken bones move inside her, her blood pooling around her body. Through a haze of pain she thought that she missed her blue feather. She had dreamed of getting a red one, but as she gasped and felt her blood leave her, she did not want a red one. She did not want red. She wanted to go home, back to her mother. Back where Rapachap could protect her and Rikeety could visit her. A broken whimper left her together with a bloody sob.

"We knew you were here before you even crossed the wall, foolish mouse!" the wolf growled, before stepping on her lower body and closing its teeth around her head to finish the job.

Rimity did not answer.

She no longer saw the red around her.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**


	4. Chp 4 - Stars Above

_**4\. – Stars Above**_

* * *

When Midwinter had shown the newly arrived men to their quarters, helped them gather whatever extra supplies they needed and finished guiding them around the camp, the young centaur hurried to his father. Frostmane was the current shaman of the centaur flock, their spiritual leader and the one who studied the stars each night. He, if any, would know when the battles would begin. And till then, it was him who assigned small jobs to Midwinter, unwilling as he was to let his son stand as equal to the soldiers. He was too young, Frostmane thought. Still unable to lift a claymore properly.

Midwinter often argued that all though the claymore was the centaurs preferred weapon, he was as good as any with a bow and could fight proper with both spear and dagger. He was right of course, and Frostmane knew this. If the battles ate away the King's men, he would let his son fight. But not yet. Not until it was absolutely necessary.

"Father!" Midwinter called as he trotted up a hill just outside camp. Frostmane was at the top, observing the night sky.

"Mithwa- I trust you took care to help the soldiers settle in?" Frostmane asked his son, using his pet-name from when he was little, without looking at him. His eyes were fixed on the stars.

"Of course, Father." Midwinter answered, respectfully. "I showed them where to sleep, feed and relieve themselves- I pointed out the infirmary, the smithies and the storages as well."

Frostmane gave him a short smile which was quickly replaced by a worried frown as he looked to the stars again.

"Young blood was spilled tonight." he said, quietly.

Midwinter frowned too, at that. Worry gnawed at him. Despite his arguments that he was battle-ready, he knew that war was no place for younglings.

"Refugees that had yet to get away?" he asked.

Frostmane shook his head, his black dreadlocks dancing. Grey hairs had mixed with the black over the last couple of years, giving truth to his name.

"No." he answered. "The stars does not tell a story of flight or fleeing."

"Somebody faced the enemy head on?" Midwinter asked.

"Maybe." Frostmane answered. "Or maybe they were surprised and had no chance to act." He put his hand atop his son's head, ruffling his hair. It was as black as Frostmane's own had been at that age. He was still so very young by centaur standards.

"Come Mithwa." he said. "Let us go eat dinner together, before we too are robbed the chance to act." he continued, dispelling the sinister mood the stars had put upon him, and he in turn upon his son.

He glanced back up at the stars as they trotted down the hill.

"The stars tell of blood, Mithwa. But they also tell of a valiant courage and of hope." he whispered, too low for his son to actually hear. "The eastern star is rising."

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

Caspian was startled awake by the sound of the doors to his chambers slamming against the wall as they where pushed open. Before he even knew what was happening, he was half out of bed, sword in hand and turned towards the intruder- only to lower it as he blurringly recognized Rapachap, Rikeety and a variaty of other mice,- all with red feathers on their heads. Their tails were raised in alarm, their whiskers stiff and their breathing fast as they bowed before their newly awakened king.

Caspian glanced outside. It was barely predawn. He groaned on the inside- Sleep was precious to him as of late and preciously scarce at that.

"I am sorry your Majesty, but I have urgent business-" Rapachap said, his voice betraying his worried and somewhat haunted state.

Instantly Caspian's tired mind caught up to the events of the last couple of days, his eyes growing hard and serious as he steeled himself.

"Have the Witch attacked?" he asked, his hands going cold.

Rapachap shook his head, biting his lip and taking off his feathered headpiece to wring it worriedly between small hands.

"No, your Majesty." he said. "It shames me to say that this business if my own folly-"

Caspian sank down to sit on the edge of his bed, waving for Rapachap to tell whatever he had come to tell.

"-As you know I have a sister, and as it happens she had a batch of little-ones last year, almost grown by now. One of them, Rimity- she has gone missing, My Lord." Rapachap explaining, continuing to wring and ruin his red feather. "She has always wanted to join our company of mice." he whispered. "I fear she has went to the Witch's castle to prove herself."

Caspian looked at the usually confident and proud mouse, now so worried and strangely undramatic. It pained his heart.

"You know that none of our spies have returned and that we have elected not to send any more beyond her walls because they do not return." he said, quietly.

Rapachap nodded, his whiskers shivering.

"My Lord- if you'd let me and my mice,- We would not go against your orders, but my niece-" he said haltingly, without his usual eloquence. "I wish to go through the Ettinsmores myself, if only to see if I can find her trail."

Caspian held his breath as he considered. He knew it was hopeless, but yet he could not get himself to refuse the mouse's request.

"Go." he said quietly. "But take only two with you, stay undetected."

Rapachap bowed, gratefully.

"Thank you, your Majesty." he said- before turning his head to nod quietly to two of the mice in the company. Then he looked to Rikeety. "Will you take my place as leader till I return, my Brother in Arms?" he asked.

"Bring her home." was all Rikeety said, his eyes betraying his fear.

As Rapachap turned to leave Caspian called out to him.

"Do not cross the castle walls." he ordered. "I will not lose the most valiant warriors in my army before the battle even starts."

All the mice bowed to him, none deeper than Rapachap, before leaving his chambers in silence.

Caspian rested his head in his hands for a second, rubbing his eyes before standing and dressing himself. Sleep be damned, he was up and up he would stay, there was work to be done. And even if he decided to sleep in, there would no doubt be somebody else to wake him as soon as the sun crossed the horizon.

Making his way through the castle he found himself following the scent of newly baked bread to the kitchens. The old cook there remembered him from before his Uncle's betrayal, back when he was still young and unburdened. He joked that he always had a cinnamonbun ready in case the young king should decide to steal from his storages as he did back then and the same was true this morning.

Caspian had hardly shown his face in the door to the kitchen before one of the kitchen maids hurried over to him with a smile and a bun in hand.

"Cook says there ain't nothing to steal here, your Majesty." she chuckled, her voice hoarse. "He says to go wait patiently for Joel to bring your breakfast up or he'll chase you out of here with his largest spoon in hand."

Caspian gave her an appraising glance as he smiled and took the cinnamonbun she offered. The kitchen-servants' lack of respect always cheered him up immensely. The girl was rather pretty, with blonde hair swept up and kept in place beneath a white linen cloth and large blue eyes. Obviously she had northern blood in her, or she would have had the same dark colouring of the Telmarins and New Narnians.

"Cook says a lot of things." he joked with her. "But he's lying about chasing me with the largest spoon."

"Is it so?" the maid asked, giggling. "I do believe he was rather serious about it."

Caspian shook his head.

"He wouldn't." he told her, before giving her a conspirational smile. "He never uses the spoon, he cares for it too much- the rolling pin on the other hand..." he motioned for her to look over her shoulder to where Cook stood at the other end of the kitchen, rolling pin in hand as he watched them with a grin on his face.

The girl laughed and Caspian winked at her before leaving with a wave to Cook.

Maybe it was not too bad to be forced back to his Uncle's castle. After all there was good memories here too and this little exchange had refreshed his worried mind.

In another life he would have liked to have been a kitchen-hand.

In another life he would have woken in the early predawn, started baking bread and getting water for the kitchen, before cutting herbs and onions or whatever vegetables the cook put him to work on. He would have met a sweet kitchen maid, perhaps one such as the one he had just spoken with, and he would have married and raised a family. He would have lived his days in peace and he would not have to read reports every second of the day or worry about endless battles and whether or not the entire realm had enough to eat.

He shook his head.

He loved his people, he wanted all the best for them and he did not hate this way of life- did not hate being able to make a difference and having united the New and Old Narnians. Sometimes however, he liked to dream of peace. Of simple days.

His life had not been simple for a long time.

Sure, there had been simple moments and simple days, but they had always had a cloud hanging above them, the constant worry in the back of his head for the safety and happiness of his country. A worry for the future.

He was supposed to be married and to have a heir, yet he had neither wife nor child. Both was on account of his own stubborn decision to marry for love, something that cost his council great grief and worry. Sadly his love life had always been complicated. His first love had been an ancient Queen from another world- His second a star who had decided that she was not able to leave her father behind to go with him. Both had chosen their own worlds, apart from his, instead of their love for him.

He bit into the cinnamon goodness that Cook had bestowed upon him and sighed. It was not as if he could just marry anyone, love or not. The council would demand for him to marry somebody of proper standing and he himself knew that the queen of Narnia would have to be somebody who could uphold its ways and, much as any heir he chose, have an understanding of both politics, diplomatics and the daily run of the country.

So even if they all survived the White Witch, the fate of Narnia would still be uncertain- all because of Caspian.

 _Just great_ , he thought to himself, his thought-voice dripping with sarcasm.

Maybe he should just do as Lord Astavit wanted and marry the niece of the King of Archenland. But she was just so very dull to be around, hardly speaking three words in a row. There was no fire in her.

He really needed a break from all this damned thinking.

Finishing off the bun he went to get his sword and armour from his chambers, deciding to go find someone on the practice field to spar with while he waited for the daily reports to arrive and for him to make decisions. He could not be the only one up before dawn, not counting the guards, but even if he was, he would just run through a couple of exercises by himself.

Physical work often helped clear his mind.

Another group of scouts fell into a trap that day. A bear was killed as he fell atop a spear and a young New Narnian man was wounded. Caspian issued an order for all groups to have a hound with them to sniff out any pitfalls. Another group brought back reports of the Witch's forces having grown to almost double the amount over the night. Somebody shot down one of the messenger hawks,- stealing the reports it was carrying. Caspian had a constant headache. Rikeety lead the mice to the east, killing a stray blackdwarf in the process of maintaining a trap. They destroyed the trap. One of them was wounded, but nothing serious enough for them to stop their patrols.

There was no word from Rapachap yet.

Caspian spend most of the night in another war-meeting. One of the councillors wanted him to attack the Witch while she was in her castle, before she was fully prepared. Another was firmly against it, claiming that the disadvantages where too great. Both were right. The ideal would be to crush the Witch before she grew too confident and strong within her Castle- but there was too many uncertainties. Once, Caspian had let King Peter talk him into storming a castle despite the many obstacles, and though the failure of the plan was in part his own fault, he was wary of storming in blindly once more. Especially when no scouts had managed to return from beyond the walls.

He did not get much sleep.

The next day there was no casualties and no groups who fell in traps. The hounds did their work and three pitfalls were discovered and filled. Caspian spend most of the day in one of the large tents among the soldiers', planning and giving out orders. The meeting during the night had ended with the decision to try and provoke the Witch to leave her castle by advancing towards it- though there was no current plans storm it.

By lunchtime those plans fell apart, as a frantic scout ran into the tent, panting.

"Your Majesty-" he gasped. "A werewolf, carrying a frozen branch- coming- here."

The branch was an old custom that showed that you came with a message from the enemy and called for a momentary ceasefire.

"Is he alone?" Caspian asked.

The scout shook his head, horror in his eyes.

"He has a prisoner, Majesty." he said, trying to gain his breath. "A mouse, covered in blood, carrying something."

A cold hand clenched around Caspian's heart.

It would seem Rapachap's quest had been in vain.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

Hunger had begun gnawing at her hours before she reached the Western Woods, so it was no wonder that she set a straight course for the nearest plum tree- only to find any fruit it might have had, on the ground, brown and mouldy. Disappointment filled Lucy. Narnia seemed to be in the last weeks before winter, everything cold and dying around her.

No, she reprimanded herself. Not dying, but hibernating- waiting for spring. Not that she planned to go to sleep herself this night. She had learned her lesson on the plains before the pool and where going to continue walking through the night, sleeping only in the warmest hours of the day.

With a deep sigh she continued through the forest, touching trees as she passed them, hoping to feel the warmth of the dryads, but finding nothing. She was hardly surprised, the trees had been asleep since before Caspian became king, only waking shortly to battle Miraz's army. She wondered if Caspian was still alive, a dull pain pounding inside her.

The second time she returned to Narnia it had been to find everybody she knew, dead and long gone. Twice she had returned to Narnia, the first time to meet Caspian and the second to find him still alive. Would she see him a third time? Or was this another thousand years into Narnia's future? She regretted not asking Aslan why she had been brought back, but at the time she had been so overwhelmed. Almost drowning, seeing him again, the apple- so much had happened she had plainly forgot her worries.

Bare feet, newly healed by Lions or not, made for poor walking through the forest, forcing her to divert from her path alongside the river and to find softer travel among the trees where fallen leaves and moss made for softer grounds. In the beginning she zigzagged quite a bit, so as to not step on stray branches, but as her worries melted to the back of her mind and her legs found old grace, she found herself threading the steps of a Nanian folk-dance. Humming, she soon found herself singing the familiar and yet almost forgotten song that went with it.

"Faun and nymph, flower's child

Centaur, hawk, free and wild

Looking to the stars above,

We dance and sing and love."

She turned on her heel, before letting out a small laughter and stopping her dance in favour of walking normally. It did not matter that she was hungry and had gone all day without meeting any Narnians,- being in the country was enough to make her whole being buzz with life and joy, even in the dark of night, as was the case right now.

Stepping over a boulder on the forest path she planned to follow it a bit closer to the river, so as to not get lost in the forest. She planned to follow it forward to the old Telmarin Castle.

She definitely did _not_ plan for the soft earth to give away beneath her feet, nor to suddenly plunge through it and down into the darkness bellow- But that was exactly what it did.

She sure was doing a lot of falling on this trip to Narnia.

Hopefully nobody had urgent need of her.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

The werewolf walked into the camp as if he owned it. His face was a distorted mix of human wolf-features, his lips pulled back to show off his long yellow fangs. Caspian could count his ribs beneath his scruffy fur. In one hand he had a branch, covered in ice, in the other he had a rope.

Behind him walked a mouse, the rope tied around his neck, though Caspian could not see who it was, so covered was he in blood and dirt. The tail dragged behind him, his head lowered with grief and shame, his arms cradling a broken mess of fur.

Caspian stood in the middle of the camp, Drinian on one side and Frostmane on the other.- Soldiers lined the path the werewolf took, weapons at the ready should the creature decide to dishonour the custom of the branch and attack.

When he stopped, a safe distance from Caspian and his guards, he threw the branch on the earth, sneering.

"The Queen of Ice and White sends her gracious greetings to King Caspian the Tenth, Son of Adam, and Chosen King of Narnia by the word of Aslan." he said, his voice gravelly and hoarse. "She asks that you listen to her message as she has most leniently returned your spies to you." He pulled the rope, causing the mouse to take two faltering steps forward, almost dropping the burden he cradled so preciously to him.

Caspian motioned for two soldiers to free the mouse.

"Take him into my tent." he said quietly. "Get one of the doctors from the infirmary."

Then he looked at the horrid man-wolf before him.

"I am listening." he said, his voice cold as steel.

The werewolf laughed, spit raining to the ground around him.

"The White Queen asks that you surrender peacefully and promises that any who turn to her swiftly will be spared a painful and slow death as long as they pledge allegiance to her as the rightful Queen of Narnia." he told them. "She also bids me tell you that her armies are ready and that any who does not recognize her royal blood by the break of dawn will be killed with no hesitation."

Caspian felt himself almost growl at the message.

"We will not surrender to her darkness." he said. "Tell your mistress that if any have turned to her by the break of dawn, they will be met with a traitor's death."

The werewolf growled at him, snapping its teeth as it almost lounged, only to be stopped by Frostmane's ready claymore- the tip rested just above its collarbone.

"Run back to whence you came, foul beast." the centaur said. "Your message is heard, and you have your answer."

Pulling back the werewolf growled at them, a manic look in its eyes.

"We shall feast upon your flesh." he growled at them. "And I shall devour you myself, Horse-Man, you and all your kind shall fit within my skin and yet I shall not burst, still I will hunger and I will continue to hunt and kill and eat till there are no more left within this world." With that he let out a long howl sinking to all four legs and running from the camp.

Nobody relaxed.

Caspian turned and stormed into his tent to see to the mouse and whatever it had been carrying- the sight of the fur in his arms had given Caspian a sick feeling ever since he saw the poor creature.

Inside he found the mouse sitting as if lost to the world, its arms still curled protectively around what could be little else, but the corpse of a young mouse. Looking beyond the blood and dirt in the mouse's face, he felt certain that this was Rapachap. The bundle had to be his niece.

"He isn't reacting to anything we do." The doctor told him. "He won't even let us wash his face- he won't let go of her."

"Rapachap." Caspian said, forcing his voice to be calm and controlled.

The leader of the mice looked up, his dark eyes finding his king's and his arms relaxing around what was left of Rimity.

"Your maje-" Rapachap's voice broke and crumbled as he tightened his grip around his niece. "I- my men-"

Caspian shook his head, lowering himself so that his eyes were level with the mouse's.

"There is nothing to be done for them." he told the mouse. "I need you to let go of her so the doctor can help you- do you understand?"

Rapachap shook his head.

"She- she was so young and they-" he coughed. "I need to-"

"I will take care of her." Caspian promised. "Right now you need to let the doctor examine you, that is an order from your king."

Rapachap hesitated for a bit, but then he let Caspian take the broken little shape from him. As he let go of her, a sob left him. The doctor and his helper hurried to examine him- while Caspian rose, a tiny corpse in his arms, hardly the size of a human baby.

He forced himself to look at her. Dried blood was crusted in her pelt, her eyes were closed as if sleeping, her tiny hands clenched into fits. Her tail looked to have been skinned, and her fur was dirty and filled with soot as if she had been rolled in a fireplace. She smelled as if she had been dead for at least a day, and yet she was soft, like a ragdoll- not gripped in death's stiff hands.

He swallowed something as to not be sick, before carrying her outside.

The mice company had gathered outside, Rikeety at their front, his eyes large and grave. Gasps sounded as they saw Rimity, but Rikeety was silent.

"Your leader, Rapachap, is alive, but not well." he told them. "He will need your support and your love to heal- he has lost much." he hated the words as he said them. Hated the hopeless grief that he could see growing in the mice. Hated the rage and despair that shone from their eyes.

Rikeety stepped forward, reaching out his arms towards the bundle in Caspian's arms.

"Let me take her." he said. "Let me bring her home-" his voice crumbled.

Caspian nodded, shifting and handing the little corpse to Rikeety. Two other mice joined to help him carry her, while others flooded through the tent-opening to take care of Rapachap.

A helpless grunt forced its way from Caspian's throat as he clenched his fists- he had been forced to fight wars ever since he became king, and he loathed it. He turned to Drinian.

"The war-council is gathered?" he asked, exhausted and mournful for a young mouse he had never even met while she lived. She had been so tiny in his arms.

Drinian nodded.

"They wait for you." he said.

Caspian shook his head, as his old friend put a hand on his shoulder.

"You've won wars before." the captain said. "You'll make it through this one as well."

Caspian bit the inside of his cheek and did not answer as he hurried to change his shirt before the war-council. He would have Joel burn the one he was wearing. The one with Rimity's blood on it.

Yes. He had won wars before- but how many could he fight before he dried up inside? How many young corpses would he have to carry before there would be peace in his land?

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

The mice washed Rimity's body and brushed her fur till it shone in the sunset. They oiled her whiskers and her claws, bandaged up her tail and her wounds. They build her a litter to lay her upon and covered it in fresh wild flowers, not wanting her mother to see her the way she had been when the Rapachap had carried her back from the Witch's castle.

Rikeety reached up to his headpiece, pulling out his red feather and laid it upon her chest- the other mice following his example. He barely noticed as he stared at her face.

She had always wanted a red feather- wanted to fight with their company.

Rikeety had laughed at her once. Not because he did not think her capable, but because he knew how much she cared for her own beauty. And he knew in his heart that her own azure feather had suited her colours much better than red ever would.

Looking at her, among the white and blue wild flowers, with the red feathers under neatly folded paws upon her chest, he knew that he had been right.

He and another lifted her litter to carry her home, as he had said he would.

He would take her home.

He would give her to her mother.

He would- he would do whatever he could, though it would never be enough to still her family's grief.

He would look her parents in their eyes and her siblings.

And some day- Some day soon- he would honour her death and exact justice from her murderers or cut his tail by its root.

That he swore.

Somewhere out on the horizon, the sun set and night washed over Narnia. Above them twinkled the stars, their light too weak to truly penetrate the darkness.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**


	5. Chp 5 - Breathless

_**A/N:**_

 _So sorry for the long wait. My hard-drive chrashed so I lost all my docs from the last year or so because I'm an idiot who didn't back-up my stuff. But here's a chapter- A bit short, I know, so sorry for that too._

* * *

 **5\. – Breathless**

* * *

A restless night followed the messenger of the White Witch and the tragic return of Rapachap. Nobody gained much sleep during the dark hours as they huddled around their fires, talked quietly among themselves and sharpened their weapons. Armour was checked. Loved ones was held, or letters were written, to be found and sent should their writers not return.

There had been no reports of the White Witch's armies moving. Nor had there been any announcement from King Caspian that their own armies were to march come the morning. But everywhere soldiers gave up sleep to make their preparations.

The entire camp held its breath as dawn grew nearer and with dawn the deadline of the Witch's ultimatum.

Caspian found himself walking the battlements after a sleepless night, watching the cold light of the rising sun. He too held his breath, considering all that had passed in the shadows of the dark. Messenger Hawks disappeared among the first rays of the sun, headed towards Cair Paravel.

He had named an heir, placing the son of Lady Goldstream firmly in the line of the throne. The young boy was scarcely in his teens, but showed promise. If Caspian was to die, Lady Goldstream would act as Ward to her son, ruling Narnia till Lord Edwairn Goldstream came of age. It was a precaution he hoped would never come to pass, as well as a diplomatic move. The New Narnians of Telmarin blood would be able to accept a Queen if she ruled in the name of a future King, and Lady Isia Goldstream was firm, wise and diplomatic, though she rarely acted kindly. If Caspian passed it would most likely mean that the White Witch won and so a firm leader was needed for the country- he only hoped Lady Goldstream would not prove unsuited to the task of war.

Other things had passed, too, during the night. He had owls out scouting to the north, but they reported nothing of much interest except that winter seemed to eat at the country far faster than it should. He felt only slight relief that he had managed a trade-agreement with Archenland, knowing that there would be hard decisions to make later on to keep the country together economically.

He let out the breath he was holding, sighing deeply.

"M'lord Majesty?" a pretty voice said, hesitantly and he turned to look. Blue eyes and blonde hair made the corner of his lips turn up. It was the kitchen-maid from the other day.

"Yes?" he said, wondering if she had a message for him.

She looked down, before meeting his eyes.

"Joel says you ain't been to bed, your Majesty." she said. "He's been down to the kitchen for your breakfast, and then again when you weren't in your rooms."

"Ah." he said, looking towards the sunrise again. Wondering how many sunrises he had left- If he was to meet the Witch's armies in the near future, they might be in short supply. "Tell Joel I'm sorry." he continued. Even if he had had more time to sleep during the night, he doubted he would have slept well. The short nap he managed to take was haunted by the heavy feeling of Rimity's corpse in his arms.

The girl shook her head.

"Joel don't mind much, he just worries. Cook said you might be up here, sent me with this." she told him, digging her hands into her apron-pocket and taking out a still warm cinnamonbun.

Caspian looked at her for a second, before taking it.

"Thank you." he told her seriously, taking a bite of it to show his gratitude.

"You're welcome your Majesty." she told him, smiling. She had dimples he noticed.

"What is your name?" he asked her.

She blushed slightly.

"Maila." she said, embarrassed that the king would want to know her name. Still, the huskiness of her voice suggested that she was not averse to the question. "Maila Tailordaughter."

"Let me guess-" he teased. "Your father is the old Tailor Alton?"

She nodded sheepishly. Alton had been the tailor in residence of the castle for as long as anyone seemed to remember. He was good at his job, though he had a habit of pricking people on purpose with his needles.

"It is so." she nodded.

He held up both hands, bun still in one of them and took a step back.

"Then I better keep my distance, so I won't get stung." he said jokingly.

Maila stuck her tongue out at him.

"Like I'm some _wasp_!" she gasped in mock insult, before she clasped her hands in front of her mouth, suddenly outraged at her own impoliteness towards him.

He looked at her as if he was considering it, pretending not to notice her reaction to her own words.

"No." he said. "I suppose not, you've not a single stripe on you." It was true. She was dressed in a simple light-blue cotton gown and a white apron to match the linen head-piece. Instead of stripes she had ample curves and long legs, which he noticed. She laughed with a quiet breathlessness at his statement that made her bosom jiggle delicately.

In another life.

"Tell Cook thank you too, would you?" he said, before she had a chance to reply. "And tell Joel I'll be in the command-tent in camp today and to bring my armour down first thing."

And with that he walked away.

There was much to be done.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

Rather than urgent need, the sett of badgers she had barged in on quite uninvited seemed rather insistent on becoming rid of her.

"Now, now, Misses!" one of them hissed, a male. "I don't know who you think you are, just dropping through my roof-"

"Gustav, no! See she's all dressed in white!" a female one screamed with horror. "Oh- oh- the witch will kill us!"

"I'm no witch!" Lucy yelled in the confusion. "Aslan gave me this dress!"

"Aslan? Nobody's seen that lion in hundreds of years-" The male argued.

"She's the witch, Gustav, don't trust her!" The female continued screaming, until her husband turned around and pushed her roughly to the side.

"Stop screaming Uldra, she isn't no witch or we would be dead by now." he said, shaking his head. "Witches don't go falling through roofs. Besides, her hair and eyes aren't white, are they?" he said firmly.

Uldra blinked twice with her small black eyes, suddenly seeming utterly embarrassed.

"Oh- oh I'm so sorry Misses, I didn't think- I shouldn't have accused you of-" she stammered.

"Now don't go apologizing either." Gustav told her. "This Misses here quite deserves some being screamed at, dropping down through our perfectly good roof." he continued, completely unmindful of the fact that he just told his wife to stop screaming.

Lucy could not help herself and laughter bubbled freely from her lips. The badgers were just so adorable! Oh how she had missed the talking animals of Narnia, having always found so many more friends among the Old Narnians than among the New. She, it seemed, communicated much better with them than she did plain old Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve.

"I'm so sorry about the roof-" she got out while trying to still her laughter. "-But I was just walking and suddenly the ground fell from under me." she continued.

The badgers looked at her for a second, then at each other.

"It's because you never take the time to repair that roof even though I always tell you-" Uldra began.

"Now listen here Sweetheart, if you didn't spend so much time nagging me about fixing the south tunnel I probably would have-" Gustav argued back.

"I'm sorry about the roof!" Lucy repeated trying to cut through their discussions- Did badgers always badger each other about things? Or was it just this couple? "I was trying to make it to the old Telmarin Castle-"

The badgers gasped and looked at her again.

"Are you going to join the army, Misses?" Gustav asked her, suspicion colouring his voice.

"Oh, surely not! You're so young and pretty, Misses, you couldn't possible be a soldier-" Uldra started.

"She's not, Sweetheart." Gustav agreed.

"I'm not a soldier." Lucy told them, but was interrupted before she could say more.

"See Dear, I was right-" Uldra of course.

"I did agree with you, didn't I?" and Gustav.

"What army?" Lucy asked them. "What is happening in Narnia- Why did you think I was a witch?"

"Oh my." Uldra said.

"You don't know?" Gustav asked, incredulously.

"I better put on the kettle- Take a seat Misses-" Uldra said scuttling over the floor towards the small hearth as she began making tea.

In the meantime Gustav and Lucy moved through the set to take a seat at a tiny table-set. Lucy had to duck as she walked, so as to not hit her head against the ceiling, and when she sat she had to put her legs out to the side so that her knees would not press against her chest.

"What army?" she repeated her question when she sat, too preoccupied with the subject to be polite. Besides, politeness did not seem to get very far with these badgers.

"King Caspian the Tenth's of course." Gustav told her.

"He's alive?" Lucy exclaimed happily, almost standing again and barely remembering that that would mean banging her head into the ceiling.

The badger frowned.

"Yes- why shouldn't he be?" he asked. "The Witch hasn't attacked yet-"

"The Witch?" Lucy asked.

"The White Witch returned to Narnia- Haven't you heard?" Uldra said- bringing a small platter of dry cakes over. "Don't worry Misses, these are for the guest." she said. "We keep our own for our selves."

"I haven't." Lucy said quietly- the small cakes made her remember her hunger with intensity and she took one and ate it quickly. The small reminder that badgers normally mixed worms and whatnot in their baking did little to deter her appetite. Besides, she had been told that these were the ones for guests. She removed some crumbs from her lips. "I've been away, you see- I haven't been in Narnia since Caspian became king."

"Oh my." Uldra said.

"And where have you been instead?" Gustav asked. "If you haven't even heard about the war?"

Lucy hardly knew how to answer that.

"I'm from the land on the other side of the wardrobe-" she said. "I was brought here by Aslan before-"

The badger's whiskers fluttered angrily.

"And who are you that Aslan would bother bringing you to Narnia?" he asked.

"My name is Lucy." she said quietly, still reeling from the information she had been given. "Lucy the Valiant of the East. And I've had part in defeating the White Witch before- so perhaps that is why Aslan has brought me back." she continued, hoping they would remember that she and her siblings had aided Caspian against his uncle.

Gustav sneered in disbelief.

"You're crazy." he said. "No wonder you go falling through people's roofs."

"I tell the truth." Lucy said stubbornly, taking another of the cakes and eating it.

"Queen Lucy was a great healer." Uldra said, bringing over a small cup of tea. Everything seemed to be small in the badger-sett.

"I am." Lucy said, the apple heavy against her hip.

"Prove it." Gustav challenged her, standing and pushing the platter of cakes away.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

Rapachap turned in his bed. The heavy shock that had met him at the White Witch's castle was wearing off, replaced by a rancid fever. He shivered with cold and burned with an inner fire, which tempted with madness. His throat, ruined by the track back and the rope that had been tied around it, made it impossible for him to breathe without coughing. And sleep evaded him with wakeful nightmares of his niece's face. Broken and bloodied.

He sat up, careful not to let his tail touch anything as it still hurt immensely. A dizzy spell washed over him as he put his sore hind-paws to the ground.

He could not stay in bed.

Could not stay inside the tent- he needed fresh air. He needed- something.

Muddled and unclear, with no proper thoughts as to what he was doing, he stumbled out into the darkness outside the tent.

A heavy cough shook his body.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

The loud sound of a horn being blown alarmed the camp, just as Joel finished buckling the last of the leather-straps on Caspian's plate-mail. The Queen's armies had left her castle.

Caspian sheathed his newly sharpened sword and marched out of the commando tent. Already the Narnian soldiers had gathered, weapons in hand and neatly in march formations, only awaiting his orders to move. Ever since the birds had reported that the Witch's forces were in an uproar, their own camp had been abuzz with getting ready.

Mounting Tantris, Caspian pressed his heels to that special place by the horse's hind legs that made him rise up on two legs. Once the stallion planted both legs on the ground again and Caspian had the full attention of the men, he raised his voice and spoke.

"Narnia's evil moves!" he called. "The Witch claims that this country is hers and wants us to cover before her- We will not! This country is ours- Old and New Narnians, _Good_ Narnians. We will meet her on the battlefield, on the plains before the Ettinsmore." He saluted the infantry, hoping fiercely that they would hurry and not tatter behind.

Spurring Tantris he rode to the front of the Cavalry, knowing that they would be the first to arrive. It was part of the agreement of the council he had held during the night- seeing as his own army was too great to be safely packed away within the castle, the smartest decision would be to meet the Witch in open war and hope that their army was hers superior. So they marched out, forcing the horses to keep a brisk trot- enough that they would reach the selected battlefield before the Witch, but slow enough that they would not wear them out. Centaurs rode among the men, large felines and bears filling the ranks as well. It was a strange and mixed sight, but it filled Caspian with hope.

As always when he was riding to war and possibly death, he felt like all air had been stolen from him. He found himself breathless, perhaps from the weight of the plate-armour, or perhaps it was simply his imagination. He was trapped, unable to flee or turn in cowardice- not that he would or was inclined to do so, but still. He felt, robbed almost, of the opportunity to do it, simply because it was not in his nature. It was a strange ambivalent feeling.

Scouts called back from the front, birds flew down from the skies to tell him how far the Witch's army had progressed before continuing back the the Narnians' camp to report to the council there. The only reason why they had allowed Caspian to lead the cavalry, the infantry following under the lead of Drinian, was because he finally appointed an heir.

"Aslan better hold his paw over us." he muttered, much to the amusement of Frostmane, his right hand centaur and the brother of Firesoul, first commander of the cavalry when Caspian had other things to do. Frostmane was trotting briskly beside Tantris.

"Few wishes to be under a Lion's claws." Frostmane said. "Better his paw be over the Wicked Witch, don't you think?"

"Is there hope for that?" Caspian asked the shaman, jokingly. Yet he felt he needed some reassurance, and with Trumpkin back in Cair Paravel, there was few he could trust to keep his emotions private.

Frostmane shrugged, adjusting the claymore on his back.

"Perhaps." he said. "The Eastern star, the eye of Aslan, has been rising." he told the king, recognizing Caspian's need for a bit of hope. "It is a good omen, you Majesty."

"Then we will trust in Aslan." Caspian said, remembering the golden lion and missing him, despite however brief his encounters with the wild cat had been.

"And in you, young Caspian." Frostmane stated. "You have won the wars against the pirates, made peace with Archenland, united Narnians New and Old, and travelled to the edge of our world. We may face great evil, but you are good. So in you we trust, and for you we fight."

Caspian scoffed. He appreciated the encouragement and he was proud of his achievements, but at the same time hearing them listed like that felt sort of absurd.

"Put me under the paw, would you?" he asked. "I can fail. And I may have won wars, but I have also lost battles and people I cared for, soldiers and friends."

"A deal then?" Frostmane offered. "If we should fall in yours and Aslan's name, you will mourn us. Should you fall we will do the same, as is fair."

Caspian found himself chuckling at the centaur's dry humor.

"Deal." he agreed.

Frostmane nodded.

He breathed deeply and looked up towards the sky, a slight smile gracing his lips.

"Remember the last time I went to war with you?" he asked.

Caspian smiled.

"How could I forget?" he asked teasingly.

"Remember the song the Centaurs sang on the eve of battle then?" the follow up question came.

The king nodded. There was no way he would forget.

"Perhaps it is time we shared that song." Frostmane stated. "It calms the heart and clears the mind, leaving arms strong and souls ready- whatever may come with the dawn."

"We would be honoured." Caspian said quietly.

Frostmane looked at him, his lips curling wryly.

"You would be at that." he agreed.

A rumbling hum began in the centaur's chest, before it became a soft and low tone passing his lips. The sound rose above the scrambling of metal weapons and armour accompanying the cavalry, becoming clearer as centaurs everywhere within the four divisions took up the song. It had an edge to it, a sense of waiting and hope. Almost like a religious hymn, but more alive.

Frostmane began the first verse, his voice filled with shaman grace, the words as always unknown to Caspian, weaved together of Narnian so old only few but the centaurs remembered. But as the centaurs echoed the verse across the wandering army, the soldiers began singing their own verses in tune to the melodious hum. Everywhere voices bound together hopes and fears for the battle. Some simply sang old nursery rhymes, remembering their lives, while others fitted the old ballads and war-tales to the song, gaining courage in that way.

Caspian had always marvelled at the centaurs' singing and he did so still. He even found himself joining with a verse of his own.

" _Kin of my heart and blood of my home,_

 _When war came by, I bid you come._

 _Must I watch you fall today?_

 _Kin of my heart, I bid you stay_."

An almost jovial feeling was spreading. A sort of thunderous calm before the lightning. People were worried and scared, but they were also ready to fight and stand for the home they loved. Some were eager to prove their strengths. Others were angry and ready to claw out the eyes of the enemies that threatened Narnia.

The slightly growling sound of a singing bear joined the ancient hum of war.

" _Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight._

 _At the sound of his roar, Sorrows will be no more._

 _When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death._

 _And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again."_

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

Joel watched the smoke from the bonfire rise towards the sky. He had done as Caspian ordered and burned the shirt he had been wearing yesterday, rather than just wash the blood from it. He sighed. It had been a good shirt.

Then he looked towards the north and the battle, wondering if the king would ever return. A slight dread had filled him when Caspian had ridden off, suddenly he could not remember if he had checked all the buckles properly or if he had remembered everything. He shook his head. It was just battle-jitters.

He wandered through the empty camp. Most of the tents had been taken down. Carted off towards the battlefield to set up field-hospitals for those who could not make it as far as the castle without aid. Others simply stood there, empty and their sides flapping in the wind as they awaited owners that might never return.

It made Joel sad to see.

He was supposed to have gone with the carts to set up the infirmaries, but he had to finish some things in camp first. Rapachap had been reported missing and though Joel knew it was hardly his job to find him, he also knew that the King would worry if he was not accounted for. And if he had taken some extra time to burn the shirt as Caspian ordered, that was that.

Truth was that Joel was scared of going to the front.

He did not want to put himself in harms way.

Better to stay and search for Rapachap, at least that was useful and an excuse should anyone ask. His own shame and cowardice would remain hidden.

Joel rubbed his neck. He hated having to rise early in autumn. The cold air always made his throat hurt.

He breathed deeply trying to banish the feeling. But the frosty air simply made him grimace with pain. It might clear the head, but cold was never good for the throat. He settled himself to go find a shawl, breathing lightly while doing so.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**


	6. Chp 6 - Time to Wake

**6\. – Time to Wake**

* * *

The armies of the Witch stretched from one mountain side to another, covering the desolate earth-land that had once been a field of grass. Werewolves howled among grand black minotaurs, rotten bog-dwellers heavy with lake weeds, crawled like poison over the ground, starved wolves from the wild packs of the mountains growled. Giants stood to the back, one of them picking his teeth with the horn of a unicorn. Dark dwarves manned heavy catapults and glides., while their goblin cousins readied their eight-legged spidren mounts.

White frost coated the grass of the Ettinsmoor and crunched beneath Caspian's horse as he lead his own army forth to face the monsters the Witch had summoned from only Aslan knows what dark corners of Caspian's country.

The White Witch moved forth to stand before her army too, gently led by the arm of a large minotaur. Her General, from what Caspian's scouts had told.

"You have refused my right to rule," the Witch shouted, her voice no doubt amplified by her magic.

"You have no right!" Caspian replied. "You lost that more than a thousand years ago, when Aslan bound you to the ice!"

"I have the only right that matters. The right of power!" Jadis yelled, throwing back her head so her white hair billowed in the air.

"You will never be queen of Narnia!" Caspian said. "And we shall never bow to you."

"Then you shall perish."

And with that, her High General stepped forward, axe in hand, and bellowed.

"Attack!"

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

The unicorn was bleeding through bandages tied around its stomach like a mock girdle. It's horn had been broken off, its hooves shattered and cracked and though the badgers had washed it, it's coat was matted and drenched in pain-summoned sweat.

Tears filled Lucy's eyes as she cried out and hurried to its side.

How had this come to be? How had this magnificent, magical, wonderful being become so broken and tormented?

"You poor, poor thing," she gasped, hands already working on un-knotting the rag around her waist to free the apple. "How did this happen?"

"He came galloping from the Moor," Uldra said, wringing her paws. "We've tried to get a doctor from the Telmarin Kings' Castle, but they're all so dreadfully busy with the war and-"

"-and you said you were the Healer Queen, Misses, so you better get to working!" Gustav hissed, his whiskers stiff with worry and his words lacking for the proper anger which should accompany such angry words.

The unicorn attempted to lift his head, but seemed to weak to do much more than just open his eyes and look at her. He looked dreadfully feverish!

Finally the knot around the apple loosened for her fingertips. Water and falling and what not to mention had made it hard to unwind, but she finally managed to get it open. When she did, she turned to Gustav.

"I need a knife," she told him.

Gustav bristled, but took his wife took a small caste iron blade from her apron pocket and put it in Lucy's hand.

Carefully the woman cut the smallest bit of the apple's peel and then opened the unicorn's mouth to place it on his tongue. Then, worried that it was not enough, she made Uldra help her remove the bandage from the unicorn's middle, and dappled a small amount of the apple's juice onto the axe-wound she found there. Beneath her fingertips, new smooth skin seemed to blossom and spread, free of scars. And soon new fur sprouted from beneath it, like the first flowers of spring, shaking off the sleep of winter.

All could they hear the unicorn's breathing ease, as his hooves grew and the broken parts fell off, and all could they see his fur regain its shine.

"Oh my!" Uldra murmured, hiding her snout behind her claws. Her pearly eyes was wide with wonder, her husband for once silent.

Only his horn did not regrow.

Swallowing, the unicorn rolled up to lie proper on its stomach with his legs beneath him. He watched Lucy with the same wonder as the two badgers.

"Miracle of miracles," he murmured, his voice pleasantly deep. "What did you do?"

Lucy folded the apple within what was left of her nightgown and smiled with relief at how it had worked.

"I was gifted with a silver apple," she told them. "It carries healing, like the fire flower's juice."

"Such wonder!" Uldra exclaimed.

Gustav huffed.

"So it was by no power of your own-"

He did not get farther as the unicorn pushed to his feet and pushed the male badger off balance.

"Watch how you speak!" he said. "I am grateful for your care and indebted to you, but we may all agree, perhaps even more so to this woman."

Lucy held out her hand for him to scent, as is proper procedure when meeting any of the noble Mare-folk.

"I am Lucy," she told him. "And be kind to the badgers, for they did save you. Besides, if they did not badger us or somebody, they could hardly be called badgers any more."

"Lucy, I am Goldspear the Fast, and I am at your service," the unicorn presented himself, as he curtsied for her and scented her fingers gently. "And yours," he continued nodding at the badgers.

"Goldspear," Lucy repeated, tears again in her eyes. "I'm terribly sorry, but your golden horn is gone, I could not regrow it, it seems." Perhaps more apple juice? But others might need it, what with the war. Oh, what should she do?

Goldspear shook his mane.

"No matter," he told her. "I must simply earn a new name, as Goldspear no longer fits. For now it must do, though as I cannot serve you without a name."

"You don't have to serve me," Lucy told him. "But if you would tell us how you got hurt, if you can?"

"It was the White Witch's armies," Goldspear told them. "I was scouting for the King when one of her servants came upon me with an axe. The pain made me panic, and I fear I ran till I could run no more and failed to report to our own troops." He hung his head in shame, his ears flickering back.

"Goldspear," Lucy said softly, sensing his inner turmoil. "No one will blame you, but you must return. And if you could, would you carry me with you? I fear there may be a need for my help."

The unicorn lifted his head again, watching her for a second.

"I will carry you, though the battle must have begun already," he said, though unicorns were notoriously known for being too proud to let anyone carry them. Peter was the only person she knew who ever had ridden one before.

"Thank you," Lucy whispered. "Take me to the Old Allies Enclave, where my friends have slept for far too long."

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

The sound of armies clashing resounded across the Moors and echoed over the mountains. Already people where crying out in pain in an air heavy with the stench of blood.

Rikeety's company of Mice cut through the enemies' forces like possessed. Swiftly and elegantly they danced with their blades, jumping and ducking and stabbing out eyes. Their righteous anger giving them a terrible edge of cruelty. Goblins on spider backs met Centaurs in fierce battle, as large cats and bears clashed with minotaurs. Dwarfs lead by Trumpkin and his son fought Black Dwarves, the relatives of Trumpkin's old friend Nikabirk.

The White Witch stood atop a cliff, too far back for any arrow to reach, but close enough to direct the battle, surrounded by werewolves and witches. The giants grabbed stones to throw after Caspian's armies, while glides and catapults were in constant motion.

At the sound of a signal from the Narnian horns, the Gryphons descended to tear apart the war machines, helped by the giant eagles.

For hours the battle raged.

The bog-dwellers grasped people in their clawed tentacles, eating them as they fought, as the New Narnians killed one after another. Others fired arrow after arrows at the wolves attacking the dwarves, and everywhere people on both sides screeched with pain and terror. Suddenly the White Witch signalled for the Giants to enter the fray, and they swung their clubs from side to side as they crashed into the left flank.

The Black General cut a wide breach through the centaurs, his horns dripping with blood from his victims, his axe and fur smeared with it as he killed one after another. A large grizzly bear saw him cut down a young leopardess and bounded over the battlefield to prevent the murder of another.

The bear roared as fiercely as a lion as it rose on its hind legs and swiped at the White Witch's High General. The minotaur lifted one large arm to push away the bear's attack and then he swung his wide axe, cleaving through the bear's neck and shoulder. The large grizzly fell to the ground with blood quickly pooling beneath it, as the Black General growled and cut down a charging centaur as if it was nothing.

Caspian cried out for the death of his people, their spilled blood and down trodden corpses. He lounged at the goblin in front of him and cut off a leg from the large spider it was riding before taking the goblin's head. By his side, Frostmane cut down another. Everywhere people were dying on both sides of the battle.

For a moment, Caspian found the time to take in the destruction around him, and he realised that the White Witch had planned well when she had had the giants come from the side once the battle had been under way. He should have noticed earlier, but his mistake had cost them dearly.

"Signal the retreat!" he shouted to Frostmane. "We need to regroup if we are to stand a living chance."

The Centaur shaman lifted his horn and blew the signal for retreat, and Caspian protected him from the advancing spiders while he did so. As soon as the soldiers began drawing back, a victorious thunder came from the White Witch's evil army. Caspian's heart broke at the sound as they renewed their attack at the Narnians, killing as they swept forth.

An arrow found a slit between two pieces of his armour and cut painfully into his shoulder and he fell forward. He caught himself on one hand and forced himself back up to a stand, just in time to cut away another arrow with his sword.

When the wolf leapt onto him, he fell backward into the dust.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

The grove of silent trees huddled by the river side made little movement in the warm summer breeze. There was no song there, no dance, no battle and no steel. There was only the silence.

Inside the grove was a woman, huddled by the roots of an ancient willow, her stomach large and full with child. Her skin was clammy with the sweat of child birth and the black strands of her hair clung to it as she heaved for air. With a sob of pain she lifted herself up into a crouching position.

"Aslan keep us," she whispered as another contraction tore through her.

There was no answer.

Again and again the contractions rolled over her, like waves on the sand and again and again she bit any sound of pain off, so as not to disturb the silence of the grove.

Finally release came, as first the baby and hence the last remains of childbirth left her body. Cutting the birth cord herself, she lifted her baby to her chest and kissed its wet forehead.

"There you are," she murmured tiredly, as she moved to the river to bathe her new light.

The little boy made a mewling sound in response, wiggling as she bathed him and the river washed away the last traces of birthing fluids from his human skin. Then, stepping into the water and washing herself as well, she finally left the grove and began walking. She had a long way to go still, and exhaustion was hounding her.

But she had to keep her son safe.

Her little Aslar.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

A howl of grief went up from the back of his army, as somebody lost a brother, a friend, or another dear one. Caspian pushed the wolf off of his chest, having killed the beast and gall rose in his throat at the idea that even this starved creature might have had family.

Warm blood ran down the inside of his plate-armour, sticky and sickly and leaving him dizzy.

How he hoped Lady Goldstream and her son would prove suitable rulers.

The Werewolf stood in front of him, skin and bone and madness. This was the creature who had brought them Rapachap and his niece. This was the beast who had promised to swallow the world.

"You look sick, little king," the were growled, saliva like strings from its fangs as it curled its claws and fingers. Circling him.

"You should talk," Caspian spat at him.

"My Queen will reward me well, for a piece of your flesh," the werewolf grinned. "Shame, there shall be nothing left for her, when I have done with you."

"You sure you dare attack something bigger than a mouse-kit?"

The beast snapped at his words, and jumped. Caspian only just blocked its attack, stumbling back as claws racked over the metal of his chest plate. He kicked it, attempting to make it draw away, but failing.

It leapt forward again, closing its maw around his wounded shoulder and tearing till the sword dropped from his hand.

With a scream of pain, Caspian hammered his good hand against its face again and again, until it finally let go. Just as well, for in that moment strong horse legs crashed into it as Frostmane swung his claymore to drive the werewolf away.

"Foul creature, be gone!" he yelled.

Caspian stumbled and fell.

And the werewolf resumed its circles, scenting weak prey.

Frostmane brandished his claymore again, the pummel between both his hands as he charged the werewolf and drove it back again. Growls and snarls from both centaur and werewolf filled the air among the sound of steel against steel.

"To the king!" the Shaman ordered. "Protect the King!"

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

Goldspear was indeed the Fast, Lucy thought as the unicorn bounded beneath her and carried her through the forest towards the opening of the forest known as the Old Allies' Enclave. Once there, she swung herself down and stepped onto the thick green cover of grass that covered the open areas beneath the trees.

Hesitating, she watched the ancient trees. They looked cold.

"You have slept too long," she whispered, worry filling her. "Too long did you dwell on the edge of death. Too long."

She walked to the middle of the clearing and turned slowly in one place to take in all the trees. It had been easy the first time she was in Narnia. The trees had been bursting with life and youth, springing into dance any chance they could. The last time she had been here, they had been hibernating, only awakening at the last moment by the word of Aslan.

Now however, Aslan had brought her instead, and she knew why.

"Things never happen the same way twice," she murmured. "It is time you wake up, my friends."

The trees made no move to follow her suggestion.

"What are you talking about?" Goldspear asked. "There are no one here."

Lucy smiled at the unicorn, her eyes sad.

"The trees are here- or they used to be."

The unicorn frowned, as much as any unicorn can and shook his mane in dismay.

"We must go to the front," he told her.

"We will," Lucy agreed. "But not alone."

Following the urge within her, she took a deep breath, and spread her arms as the dance began to fill her. The same dance she had danced a million trees back when Narnia was younger and she was older. A soft song in the old Narnian language drifted from her lips, as she touched first a willow, then a lind, a cherry plum and a birch. Round and round she stepped, intensity creeping into her song as she twirled.

A sigh sounded in the air as a soft breeze rustled the leaves.

"Nothing is happening," Goldspear huffed, digging with his front leg and upturning the grass.

"Shush," Lucy told him. "Listen- the trees are singing. They're waking up," and they were in fact singing. The rustle of their leaves like soft bells as they fell into the melody she had been singing.

She returned to her dance, twirling faster as first one oaken leaf let go of its branch and drifted on the wind to twirl around her hand, then another. Soon a shape of leaves were treading the dance with her. Then it was followed by another, and yet another till slowly the clearing filled with creatures of little substance.

Finding her steps back to the middle, Lucy stopped and the Ethereal shapes stopped with her, as they waited.

"Narnia is under attack," she told them softly. "The witch of winter is back."

Slowly the leaves started spinning around themselves, closing in and then moving apart to reveal new corporeal shapes, almost humanoid in appearance.

An oak dryad stepped forward.

"Are you going to war, old friend?" she asked, her lips cracking and bark falling to the ground from ill use.

"I am," Lucy replied.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

Frostmane dragged the king onto his back and kicked at the attacking soldiers, as he galloped away from the heart of the battle. The sound of retreat sounded repeatedly from his horn.

Caspian fought to stay conscious and on the centaur, but the world was heavy on his chest.

In another life, he had thought. Now he stood to lose the one he had, and at the sound of his people hurting, a small part of him felt- relieved. A bigger part of him felt guilty and if tears made his eyes grow shiny, it was not from the pain of his torn shoulder.

He was so tired, all he wanted was rest.

Rest and sleep.

Caspian opened his eyes again at the sound of a centaur's horn. Only this one was not bellowing retreat, but hope.

On the darkening horizon a single Eastern star glinted in the last of the sun, as the prancing unicorn's broken horn caught the dying rays of light. A woman on the back of the pure creature held up a hand, her long auburn hair blazing red and her white dress billowing. Beside her stood Midwinter, the young centaur, horn in hands. And behind her rose the sleeping dryads, no longer dwelling deep within their trees, but full and living and armed with oaken bows and mistletoe arrows. Asleep no more, awakened by the only Queen who ever danced among them.

As the woman let her arm fall down, the dryads fired their arrows. Each one hit hard and true, seeking the dark hearts of the evil army. Screams like dying demons came where there had been gleeful screeches before, as the Witch's officers began shouting for retreat.

Thus ended the first of the Ice War's great battles, with neither army deserving of victory.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

 _ **A/N**_

 _Ya'll could have told me I accidentally wrote "her long auburn hand blazing red" instead of "her long auburn hair blazing red"  
I died a little of embarrassment.  
I turned blazing red, only it was my cheeks, not my hand.  
_


	7. Chp 7 - To Brew a Brew on Silver Dew

**7\. – To Brew a Brew on Silver Dew**

* * *

Midwinter's eyes were wide as he followed the young – ancient? - Queen of Narnia. He had not believed them, when he had first seen her. She rode into camp on an unicorn, followed by almost a hundred ancient dryads in their corporeal forms. No one had seen the dryads in a thousand years, or so his father had said, and even rarer was it for them to take actual shape.

The woman with the fiery hair and lightly freckled skin, had declared herself to be Lucy the Valiant, friend of Caspian the Tenth and had asked for them to send for her cordial and her dagger, as she would be joining him at the battlefield as quickly as her friend and mount could carry her there. With the way she commanded the lithe dryadine females with their weapons and strength, how could they have doubted her? And when Drinian, keeper of the camp and castle confirmed her identity, her wishes was quickly accommodated. Her intricate silver bottle, almost empty of the fire flowers juice, was fetched and Midwinter was commanded to show her the fastest way to the battle. Drinian would follow behind with bandages and medicine for the survivors.

And so he had galloped beside Goldspear to the edge of the war site, as the dryads had run beside them. Their feet had scarcely touched the ground as they ran, their fibrery muscles stronger than any human and their bark thicker than any skin. They had made no sound as they ran.

They had pushed the Witch's armies back with little more than the surprise at their arrival and that first wave of arrows.

It was as if a fire burned inside the Queen when she saw the hurting and hunting of the Narnians, and she had directed Goldspear and the dryads into the fray by her side, the battle already fleeing her very footsteps. In a clear voice she gave commands to the dryads and the soldiers around her as she spared no time for the wastelands to take. She had swung herself down from Goldspear and set to work.

"You, sergeant, if you'd set a fire and get your men to gather the wounded here. Sort them so that those worst off are gathered to this side-" she asked, pointing. "First aid must be administered. Any and all with any knowledge of it should help. When Drinian arrives, tell his men to set of infirmaries quickly, and to gather the dead over by that cliff- We need to find any living, and we cannot do so if we all search the same dead." Her voice wavered slightly, but she kept it strong. It would not do to weep.

She waved forth Midwinter.

"You have the cauldron right? Fill it to the middle with water and fetch me when it boils. I have brewing to do if we're to save as many as possible," The Queen said, her eyes worriedly scanning the nearest wounded as her fingers fiddled at the lid of the silver bottle by her side.

He danced restlessly, though he nodded.

"As you command, your Majesty," he said.

She turned her head to look at him and her hand fell from the bottle on her belt as she gave him a considering gaze.

"I know you must have somebody dear to you here," she said, kindness in her voice and eyes. "But even if you search, I can only do little to help the wounded till that brew has been made," she waved at a New Narnian who looked to be unharmed enough to do light work. "When Midwinter here have set the cauldron to fire, will you watch over it and send missive when it's begun to boil?"

The man seemed confused to be given orders by her, and she inwardly cursed. She should have remembered that the former Telmarins gave little value to women. Instead of showing her annoyance, she found pity for the man instead as she realised his reaction had probably more to do with shock than her gender at this moment. People often revert to their upbringings values when traumatised, even if they know better in their adult lives. She had seen it again and again back home, during the World War.

"It's to help heal the wounded," she told him gently. Ever since she had woken the dryads, it was as if she herself had begun awakening old behaviours, reverting to when she had last been eighteen in Narnia. That was of course, back when she was older. "You'll help, just sit by the fire, and get somebody to find me when the water boils," she said firmly.

The man's glazed over eyes showed a spark of understanding.

"Yes," he said hoarsely.

Goldpear nodded his hornless head slightly.

"I shall come get you the moment it boils, if this fine man will keep an eye on the cauldron," he said, his eyes utterly exhausted. And with the amount of carrying and running he had done with Lucy, it was little wonder indeed! He had crossed from the badger-sett to the Enclave's clearing, to the Telmarin Castle and to the battlefield in but a single day!

"Thank you," Lucy nodded. "Get some rest."

"Does that mean I can search for my father?" Midwinter asked, his youthful face suddenly hopeful. Lucy's heart broke at the thought of letting him search the battlefield for a father who might not be alive, but she nodded again.

"Of course," she said. "But get water for the cauldron first- There should be a spring near here, if I remember correctly."

They had drawn back from the upturned and beaten earth that had served as the battle's foothold and the wounded were being carried across the hill from where the dryads had first appeared to meet with the people bringing first aid. The dryads stood, as still and as peaceful as trees on the high, and watched for any sign that the Witch's army may turn back before the wounded had been retrieved. As they kept guard, the battle worn survivors still able to walk and carry, found those who still drew breath and helped them flee back from the bloody destruction. Some places the battle was still ongoing, though mistletoe arrows slowly picked off the last remaining enemies.

Lucy hurried to one of the dryads, the oaken being who had first appeared in the clearing, her hands held forth in unspoken beckon.

"I need to find the King," she said. "And to heal those who need it on my path- Would you do me another favour and keep close to me? I may have need of protection."

The dryadine was quiet for what seemed a very long time, but it was to be expected. The trees had not spoken for ages, and even if they were in the practice of speaking, they rarely did so without reason. The long life of a tree, especially of the oak-kind, did little to encourage haste.

"I'll walk with you, your Majesty," she said, adjusting the grip on her bow and drawing herself up a tiny bit taller. She had sunk a bit into the ground where she stood, no doubt taking root for a second as the chance had presented itself. That was the thing with dryads in their corporeal form- when they danced as wind and leaves, it was only their spirit who left their trees. When they stepped out like this, bark and branches taking almost human form, they took their trees with them. The clearing back at the Old Allies Enclave had become a whole lot bigger, and the forest had lost a bit of its heart when Lucy asked the dryadine dancers to be her warriors. A stone would lift from the youngest Pevensie's chest when the trees were returned to their home and she silently vowed to make sure that Caspian would plant the prettiest field-flowers among the grass in the clearing. Dryads had a special liking for flowers in their surroundings. The dryad broke her out of her concentration as she introduced herself.

"I am Oakrynai, but you may call me Krynai, your Majesty," she said, her voice full and dark like roasted coffee beans.

"Lucy, please. I am unused to being my-majestied so often," Lucy told her quickly. Then, as the name registered, she expressed her surprise. "I used to dance with a dryadine named Oakrysel- Your sister?" she wondered.

Now her surprise may seem strange to any who have had little dealings with dryads and have never been so lucky as to have one share their name. But the thing about dryads is that they, like you and me, have family names.

Krynai shook her head, the shimmer of a smile in her deep green eyes.

"My mother," she corrected. "She was head of our family, before the great sleep."

Lucy would have questioned further, had they not just them reached the first of the wounded and thus returned to the situation at hand. Quickly, with too much practice at cleaning up after battles, she checked for signs of life and closed unseeing eyes where no signs were found. After the third corpse, she was finally met with the rasping breaths of a gryphon who had a large wound on its chest. It would have bled out long ago, had its feathers not helped stem the blood. Already Lucy's cordial bottle was in her hand, and she tipped a single drop out on her finger tips and spread it on the wound.

"Shush," she told the rasping weeping feline-bird. "It'll be all right. You'll be okay- help will come soon, and you will heal."

She hated leaving the gryphon like that, but she had little time to spare. Quickly she moved from body to body, from bear to human, to bird and centaur, leaving healing in her wake, where healing would take. Those who were conscious and not too badly off, she left for others to bandage. But any one who wavered on the edge of life and could not wait, she gave a fiery orange drop. Behind her spread noise and movement. She worked as fast as she could, and did not even notice when Drinian arrived on the hill above, nor when the last sounds of battle disappeared completely and night fell on the Moors.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

Midwinter hurried down the small path between the cliff-sides and towards the spring as fast as his hooves could carry him. He had the small cauldron on his arm, and his claymore sheathed on his back. His horn hung across his young and yet to be proper be-muscled chest. The faster he got the water back to the New Narnian soldier, who's name was Salden, and the unicorn, who had presented itself as 'still-Goldspear-but-hopefully-not-for-long', the faster he could search for his father.

The spring turned out to be a disappointment.

It was small, to say the least, and disappeared among the stones without pooling. So his only choice was to place the cauldron beneath it and wait for it to fill or return to where that sergeant had lit the small fire and wait for Drinian to arrive with supplies such as water.

When the copper cauldron had been properly placed, the colt took to carefully scaling the nearby cliffs to get a better look at the battlefield. He was very careful, for it would not do to misstep and twist his legs. There were wounded enough as it was and Centaur legs did not do well with twisting.

In the disappearing light he could see nothing much of what he sought and disappointment swirled inside him. Even his father's beloved stars hid their faces this dreadful night. Stepping forward to gain a better view, Midwinter frowned suddenly and glanced downward. The coat above his hoof was soaked with cold evening dew.

Bending forward, he studied the plants through the lack of light and blinked- Ladies' Mantle! Hundreds of them! Each leaf gathering the night-time dew and letting it roll down onto its centre, like silver ponds. His heart in his throat, Midwinter turned and hurried down to gather the cauldron, which had barely gathered any water in his absence. Returning swiftly to the helpful foliages side, he tipped the leaves and gathered the dew.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

Frostmane did not curse at the stars as he laid, one leg stretched before him and sadly broken. It was not in his nature to curse fate nor luck, but had it been, he would have. As the dryads had chased off the Witch's army, he had twisted his leg and fallen, his King falling beside him. Unconscious. Soon night had followed, cold and dark, and clouded. With fingers clumsy from pain, Frostmane had removed Caspian's shoulder plates and chest one, examining the wound. Then he had torn the King's shirt and bandages the bleeding arrow wound as tightly as he could, attempting to keep the warm life giving blood inside of him.

He had tried to stand, but he could barely keep his footing, much less carry Caspian with him. His horn had been lost in the confusion of the battle and the shouts and screams of pain around them had kept anyone from hearing his own shouts for aid. Luck of all luck, he had fallen far from other left behind wounded, and few had heard his yells.

In the end he had settled for saving his voice and breath till the noise settled down.

And when it did, he made use of what he had saved.

"The King is here!" he shouted. "The King is here! And he is hurt."

The warriors around who could still speak, though at this point they were few, took up the shout.

"The King is here!"

And Frostmane blessed the stars.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

As Lucy cut the silver apple in as small pieces as she could, she thanked the Phoenix and Aslan for letting her take one. One after one, apple bits the size of her thumbnail fell into the boiling cauldron and already the most delicious smell of apple juice and apple porridge was spreading on the air. She had all but emptied the bottle in her belt to hold this new cordial she was brewing, this silver potion. For even the inside of the apple had proven to carry a white silveriness about it.

It would take time for it to have boiled down enough for her to carry it with her, time and stirring.

Oakrynai stood guard not far away, though she had expressed distaste at being so close to a fire, and Goldspear had folded down to rest beside her. Midwinter stood a bit away, staring into the night and worrying for his father.

Drinian was moving back and forth among the wounded being cared for and directing the ones returning from the battlefield carrying new wounded or already dead. He returned to their little fire after a while, his dark eyes even darker.

"Caspian would have returned by now," he said, his voice sore and sorry. "If he had been unharmed, he would have, even if he had stopped to help the hurt."

Lucy stirred the cauldron, one hand uselessly left in her lap.

"We'll find him," she said, feeling wretched that she had nothing better to offer.

"But in what condition?" Drinian asked. As people had been reclaimed from among the dead and night and exhaustion had grown stronger, things had quieted.

"Sir! Sir!" somebody called and an old soldier stumbled closer, panting as he delivered his all consuming message.

"The wounded are shouting, Sir!" the New Narnian reported. "They say the King is found and hurt!"

Drinian was moving almost before Lucy got to a stand. In less than a second, she was by Goldspear's side, and then he was moving too. Through the darkness they followed the directions of the wounded as they pointed and called, following the chain of their voices to where Frostmane waited beside the King. There Lucy let herself slide down from her friend and hurried to the Centaur's and Caspian sides. Midwinter almost fell on his way to his father, his eyes wide and terrified at the sight of Frostmanes twisted leg, broken as it was.

Terror filled her as Lucy found the arrow wound and felt the coldness of Caspian's skin.

"Arrow to the shoulder. It got one of the bigger blood vessels," Frostmane told them, a calming hand on his son's leg.

Lucy lifted Caspian's head to lay it on her thighs, twisting the cap of her silver bottle and tipping it over his slightly open mouth. Nothing. She had used it all! Panic flared within her as she put the cap back on and turned the bottle upside down to force any remaining amber liquid towards the opening. Again she opened it and again she tipped it.

With utter relief Lucy watched the very last of the fire flowers' juice roll over the silver rim and drip onto Caspian's lips. Too slow for her liking, it moved past them and onto his tongue.

"Swallow!" she urged him. "You have to swallow it,"

His eyelashes flickered as if his eyes were moving beneath their lids, and with a force of will, he swallowed.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

 _ **A/N: - The important stuff is written in bold black, and summarize the entirety of the note, so you don't have to read all the thin stuff.**_

* * *

 _A lot, and by a lot I mean five of you (That's like 10% of the reviews I've gotten on this thing), have commented on the fact that **I let 6 chapters pass before allowing Lucy and Caspian to meet, despite the fact that this is marked as a romance fanfic with them as main pairing** \- three of you actually wrote me private messages asking why and complaining that he/she was there to read about love and not all that other drag-ons (cool that you were relatively polite and non-anonymus, but still...), while lovely reviewer captainbellatrix liked it. (You rock! Seriously.) The last one was rude, anonymous and said quite a lot about the person writing it, and not so much about the story- so I removed it. I'm going to follow up on it here, in case anybody else wants to leave a reply in regards to this subject. _

_I'd like to address it because **it's a conscious choice I make a lot when writing romance** in fanfics and because those kind of comments are part of why I took a long absence from this site and deleted a lot of my previous stories; **Both Lucy and Caspian are separate people.** They have their own goals and dreams and challenges, outside of falling in love. Lucy wasn't pulled back to Narnia for the purpose of meeting Caspian. She's there to help save Narnia, she's there with a purpose. Caspian is there with a purpose too, and although their goal is the same, that doesn't mean they're going to be on the same path to acquire it. Lucy is an ancient Queen who had faced countless challenges alone and/or with her siblings and been to battle before. **She may be the most diplomatic of her siblings, but she is also the bravest and the most lionessqued. I want to do honour by that** \- so of course she is going to have her own trials. Love doesn't come when it's most convenient and you shouldn't waste your life by waiting around for it, nor by defining yourself around it. Lucy won't. She's got other things on her mind. (Funny how you four who dislike the story focused on the Lucy part and not the Caspian part- It's okay he flirts with kitchen maids, but not that Lucy has more important stuff to do than sigh about him?) **Even if your story ENDS with another person, it doesn't START there.** Everybody has a life before falling in love. _

* * *

_**Another thing I'd like to adress is this:**_

 _I don't usually answer reviews because a lot of them are the generic things that, although they make me enormously happy (you wouldn't even believe, they seriously make my day - Their notifications is the only reason I returned here) doesn't warrant much of a reply other than "Thank you!" (Seriously, THANK YOU FOR READING)._

 _And I've always preferred to be able to read through a story without too many author's notes. (Don't ask me why, it's something to do with looking neat and tidy I think)._

 _But what do you think?_

 _ **I tend to answer questions with private messages, and I can continue doing that, or I can throw in replies here at the end of each chapter.**_

 _ **Your choice.**_

* * *

 _Final note: Dryads names are set as follows; Tree sort, family name, individual name._

 _If Lucy was named the Dryad way, she would be called Humanpevensielucy._

 _Oakrynai, is as such Oak-Kry-Nai, and her mother was Oak-Kry-Sel_

 _More on Dryads later._

Ladies' Mantle is in some languages known as Lions' Foot.

* * *

 _ **As always: THANK YOU so much for Reading, Reviewing, Favouring and Following! The R2F2's are some of what makes me the happiest in life as a storyteller!**_


	8. Chp 8 - Times Betwixt

**8\. – Times Betwixt**

* * *

They all felt his breathing grow stronger and saw life return like a slight flush to his cheeks as the fire flower juice burned within him. The wound slowly began to scab over, but Lucy suspected that most of the healing magic was working on the blood loss and not the tear, for it did not close as easily or as fast as the countless other wounds she had treated that night.

He was so very pale, and blood stained both front and back of his shirt. She kept her eyes on him, watching for signs of waking and unable to voice how very grateful she was for the scabs covering the wound. Scabs that were slowly growing smaller, as it healed beneath them.

He had gotten older, she thought and tugged the information away in the back of her mind. His face carried lines of worry that had only been beginning shadows last she saw him, and his hair was longer. His skin still held that golden Telmarin glow, despite his paleness at the moment, and she found that his shoulders seemed broader too. That might have been a trick of her mind though, for it had been many years since she last had chance to measure. But even as he looked older, he still looked too young! He had been eighteen when they had travelled on the Dawntreader, and yet he looked about the same age now.

"How old is he now?" she asked quietly. "How long have I been gone?"

"Two years, your Majesty. The king has yet to celebrate his twenty first day of birth,." Drinian answered, though he gave her the same odd look he had when she had ridden up to the Castle of the Telmarin Kings. "Though it would seem longer times have passed for you?"

"Seven," she told him, wearily, but not surprised. Time moved in strange ways between Narnia and England- she had known that since her second journey to Narnia. In some way she supposed she should be grateful that it was her who had aged this time around. "Seven years."

With an exhausted breath, she looked to were Midwinter was helping a dwarf splinter up his father's leg.

"Frostmane," she said with a tired smile. "How well it is to see you again, and alive."

"And you too, your Majesty. The years, however fast they may have come for you, suit you." the Centaur said hoarsely. She remembered that the last time she had seen him, she had been nine, though for him that would be only... five years past? She recalled that when she returned last, Caspian had aged three years in the time it had taken her to age one. The times between Narnia and England was confusing indeed.

How long would she be allowed to stay? How long till she lost track of time and got lost betwixt it?

"I wish I could have come sooner," she told Frostmane, her eyes drifting down to look at Caspian. "I can help with your leg when we get back to the temporary infirmaries, but-"

"But moving a centaur with a broken leg is a difficult task indeed," Frostmane finished her sentence and shook his head. "I can limp with three legs and proper support, if you can help me get afoot."

And so they helped the shaman to a stand, his son by his side during the entire time it took and afterwards ducking under his father's shoulder to become his cane for the walk back. Frostmane's face was drawn with pain, but as always the stoic centaur took it in stride, exactly like Lucy remembered him.

Caspian, still caught in the labyrinth of unconsciousness, was in some ways harder to lift and place upon Goldspear's back. But in that too, they succeeded. Drinian walked on one side of the unicorn and Lucy on the other. They grew quiet as they followed the silent and still exhausted Goldspear across the field towards the infirmary and helped hold Caspian on his back.

Midwinter, the dwarf and Frostmane, hobbled behind them, but they did not tarry to wait for them in their quest to get Caspian to safety. Besides, Lucy needed to check on her silver brew, and to continue the job of a healer.

Already the Narnians able to be moved was on their way to the castle. The healthiest staying behind to finish building the massive pyres for the dead and comb through to find the last of the survivors, the weakest waiting for Lucy to perform a miracle with apple juice. Everything was in motion, but in a quiet manner that felt unsettling. Most were tired beyond words or noise, others slept wherever they could and not be in the way, and others had simply lost their words among the hurt.

People hurried to and helped them get Caspian down from Goldspear and move him to a make-shift bed inside the tents set up for the wounded. Lucy hovered and checked on his wound again as soon as she could. The ride there had torn at the new tissue, but it seemed the fire flowers were still working on healing him, albeit slower than when she first administered it. She took his hand in hers and pressed her fingers again the blood vessels of his wrist. His pulse was strong and regular. She let out a loud sigh of relief, and rocked back on her heels as a dizzy spell caught her. She needed sleep. Unconsciously she had kept hold of Caspian's hand. It was warm and calloused, used to holding a sword, she thought.

"Your Majesty?"

With a shock she let go of Caspian's hand and turned to look at the young soldier she had left with the cauldron.

"The brew is boiling down," he told her. "I figured you wanted to know-"

"Thank you," Lucy said, rising from Caspian's side. "I'll go check on it now."

As she left the tent she looked back at Caspian. He was her friend, a friend she had thought never to see again, and he was hurt. But others needed healing and he did not, not right now anyway.

"Over here!" someone yelled. "My brother- my brother's dying!"

And so Lucy hurried out into the early morning light and set to work.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

The woman balanced on a stone in the middle of the river, her baby in her arms, as she carefully stepped to the next stone. They were placed close enough for people to walk over, since the water in this part was low, but had a violent current. She had to get through the Western Forests of Narnia and to the Wild Lands of the North beyond the Ettinsmoor. It was her only chance.

Aslar, cuddled against her chest, cooed at her. To his young newborn eyes, he probably could not see neither the water nor the shore.

His head was covered in soft locks of hair, no longer than his tiny fingers and as black as her own. His eyes were deep blue, like his father's had been, but she knew the colour might fade in a few days and give way to her own brown ones. She hoped they would.

She dragged her feet up the river bank and told herself to just keep going. Just a little more.

She tripped as she was scaling over a fallen tree and fell. It was pure luck she managed to take off the force of the fall with one hand and keep Aslar safe with the other. The pain shooting through her wrist made her eyes sting with tears. But she got up anyway. She needed to continue, to get her son to the Wild Lands, nothing more, nothing less. She pushed through the bushes, and almost fell again as she stepped on something soft.

As she looked down, a scream built in her chest and she stepped back forcefully.

It was a dead mouse. But unlike the mice of her homeland, this one was huge, as big as a dog even and it was rotten and broken.

She shielded her son from seeing it.

She had once heard strange tales of speaking animals and mythical creatures living in Narnia, but surely it could not be true. Not even if their mice were tall enough on two legs to reach her mid thigh. With a chocked grasp for air, she stepped around it and hurried onwards.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

"Caspian."

The voice who woke him was familiar and gruff, so Caspian did as he suspected it wanted, and opened his eyes. He was tired and his body weary, but it did not hurt, so somebody must have taken care of his wounds.

"Drinian," he greeted and dragged himself to sit up. "What happened?"

"You were wounded, your Majesty. Arrow to your shoulder, as well as what Frostmane told us to be a wolf's bite, and countless other scrapes and cuts. Most were gone by the time we got you back here though, thanks to the juice of the fire flowers," Drinian reported. "The Witch's forces fled when the dryads came over the hill and surprised them with a rain of arrows."

"Who brought them?" Caspian asked, trying to recall the stunning woman he had seen on top of the hill. "The woman-"

"Queen Lucy the Valiant, your Majesty," Drinian told him, a twinkle in his eyes and his lips crooked into the ghost of a smile. "Though she is no longer the girl we knew- I doubt you'd recognize her on a first glance, she's grown that much in so little time."

"And now? Where is she now?" Caspian asked as he swung his feet out of bed, about to stand.

"One of the other tents, Caspian. She brought some kind of healing magic with her, a new cordial, which she's been administering to the worst of the wounded. Not to mention the traditional manners of tending. She's barely sit to rest in the entire time she's been here." Drinian told his King.

"It's really her?" Caspian asked, his mind reeling. "But Aslan said-"

"I remember. We don't know why, and by what she told me, she doesn't either."

Caspian stood and took a few steps. His body ached, but the more he moved, the more strength returned to it.

"I need to see her," Caspian said. "Talk to her."

"Sit," Drinian ordered and motioned over Midwinter. "Midwinter will find her and then come get you. That way she won't be disturbed and you won't exhaust yourself looking."

Caspian scowled.

"I could have you thrown in the dungeons for disobedience."

"Start throwing then," Drinian said dryly.

With a sigh, Caspian sat back down on his make-shift bed. He kept scowling at Drinian, who scowled right back, until he had to crack a smile.

"What would I do without you, old friend?" the King asked, laughter in his voice.

"I wouldn't know," Drinian replied, cracking a smile himself.

Midwinter returned promptly.

"The Queen is asleep," the centaur colt said. "Out by one of the fires, our fire, Majesty. Should I wake her? Goldspear says it hasn't been long since she fell asleep, but-"

"No- don't wake her," Caspian said, looking at Drinian and remembering what he had said about her feats. "She must be exhausted."

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

Goldspear was having a few rough days. When he had been attacked on the Ettinsmoor while scouting, he had felt absolutely terrified and to his shame, he had run. Fled like a colt from a snake, and as fast as he could. They had caught him anyway, and the minotaur had positively howled with glee as he swung his axe and cut off Goldspear's horn. Frightened beyond words and in pain, Goldspear had somehow gotten back on his hooves and turned tail. Even when the weapon had cut through his fur and stomach, he had continued running, and he had not stopped till his legs disappeared beneath him and darkness stole away his sight.

He was a coward. Not worthy of the horn on his head, which he admittedly no longer had, nor worthy of being called a proper unicorn, which he no longer was without the horn. He deserved what he had gotten. He also deserved having had to listen to the badgers scold each other while bandaging him up and cleaning his wounds.

What he did not deserve was what had followed.

Not only had the Queen healed him and depended on him to help her bring reinforcements for the battlefield, she had made him carry the king she had saved. The king _he_ had failed by fleeing.

Never in his life had he felt so humbled and ashamed. The fact that the Queen never even mentioned his panicked flight made him even more so. Queen Lucy the Valiant, and Valiant she was indeed. The young woman had had no rest since he had met her twenty four hours earlier. All through the day they had ridden and all through the night she had crafted miracles with her silver cordial. So when she stumbled back to the fire where he and the New Narnian man rested, he got up and laid down behind her.

"Use me for support your Majesty," he told her. "I'll make sure no one disturbs your rest unless it is of utmost importance."

The petite woman muttered something in a quite un-queenly manner, leaned back against the warm unicorn's side and closed her eyes. She fell asleep in less than a minute, and barely stirred when Midwinter brought over a blanket to cover her with. Goldspear would bet that the only reason she had stayed on her feet for as long as she had, was her worry for the people and their king. Queen Lucy the Valiant of the Olden Times, they called her, and valiant she was. Sleeping like this, black circles beneath her eyes, dirt smudged on her face and blood on her hands from the countless people she had treated, she seemed so young. Yet for some reason he thought she looked more like a Queen now, than when he had first seen her.

Hours later Drinian attempted to gently wake her.

"Queen Lucy, they're moving the last of the wounded to the Castle's Infirmaries," he said softly. "You should go too. There's baths and proper beds there."

"Mmmm," she mumbled in answer, but did not wake.

"I'll take her," Caspian said quietly, having followed Drinian. "That way, she won't have to wake up."

He bent down and gently put one arm beneath her knees and the other around her shoulders to lift her up.

Goldspear rolled up to a stand. He wanted to offer his assistance in carrying her back, but he did not dare. He did not think himself worthy of it. So instead he simply watched as Caspian gave the Queen for Drinian to hold as he mounted his steed, and then let the former captain give her back. He followed as they rode back to the castle, his head held low.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

Rikeety stood guard outside Caspian's chambers, another mouse, Meechep, on the other side of the door. Their company had personally marched beside his horse as he was transported back to the castle, as a guard of honour. There was no red feathers on their foreheads, and there would be none until the Witch was defeated for good and Rimity avenged.

Rikeety had eight good mice with him at the Castle of the Telmarin Kings. The rest were out looking for Rapachap, their still missing leader.

Rikeety had been so mad when he found out the doctors had somehow allowed the mouse to leave their care without imminent notice. His whiskers had positively stabbed the air, and his ears had flared and flickered back and forth. He supposed he must have looked ridiculous, but he had also seen fear in the doctors' eyes.

He was losing the people he cared for, left and right. People he should have protected. Rimity, pretty, young, Rimity with her blue feather and brave heart, who had run north to spy on the Witch in service of Narnia. And Rapachap her uncle, the mouse Rikeety had sworn to serve and respect when he had entered the honoured mice-squad of the great Reepicheep.

A young man came down the hall, and the mice nodded to him. Joel had been by more than once to check on the King.

Caspian was healed by Queen Lucy- Rikeety remembered her from her last visit to Narnia, back from Caspian's coronation. She had always been a favourite of the mice, and great friends with their original leader. But healed or not, exhaustion had taken its toll on the King and he had been asleep since his return from the front.

"G'devening," Joel said, changing the platter he was carrying from one arm to another. "I'll bring up supper for you as soon as I've seen to the King."

"Thank you, you are most courteous," Rikeety answered with the typical politeness of his people, though his heart was not in it. He had gotten a few hours sleep before they left the front and a few after they got back. Not that it had been restful.

"Indeed," Meechep said quietly. "We'll be most grateful."

"You're welcome," Joel smiled and cleared his throat. He then pushed open the door and entered the King's private chambers, platter of soup, bread and sweet greens on his arm. The room was dimly lit, drapes covered the windows to ensure the King's rest and candles stood on the night stand.

"Your Majesty," Joel said softly, not in want of disturbing. "I've brought supper."

Caspian, lingering on the edge of consciousness, woke to the smell of food. His stomach announced itself with a growl worthy of the Great Lion himself, and he sat up to placate it.

"Thank you," he told Joel. "How long did I sleep?"

The manservant placed the platter on the table by the window and drew back the curtains to allow in the soft evening sun.

"A good many hours," he told the King. "The last of the wounded have been brought to the castle. Lord Drinian told me, to tell you, that scouts are still placed on the border to keep watch for any movements on the Witch's side, and that the fourth end seventh company are positioned to move with little notice."

"And Queen Lucy?" Caspian asked, his mouth dry. She had not woken once on the way back to the castle, and had barely stirred when they put her to bed in the Eastern chambers of the castle. Her head had leaned against his shoulder on the entire ride, her auburn hair falling in curly waves over his arm where he supported her back. So... not Lucy. Not the spunky pre-teen he recalled from two years ago, not even the teenager she should have been, but- more. Even asleep and unguarded, despite the youthfulness her face showed in that instant, he had understood what Drinian had meant. Her time had moved so much faster than his own, and she no longer looked his friend, no longer appeared the little sister he had almost come to feel she was. It was unsettling to say the least.

"Awake, Majesty," Joel replied, bringing over the bowl of soup and placing it in Caspian's one hand as he put a spoon in the other. He covered his mouth with one hand to cough, before he finished talking. "I believe she woke a few hours ago and had the servants bringing hot water for her bath."

Caspian tipped the bowl and drank about half in one long draw, instead of using the spoon. Then he put it on the night stand, to Joel's distaste.

"You should eat, your Majesty," he said. "You lost a lot of blood, even if Queen Lucy did heal you-"

"I'm fine," Caspian said and pulled his night-shirt over his head. "Bring me fresh clothes and gather the newest reports from Caer Paravel. The messenger hawks should be here around this time," he said, his heart thrumming in his chest, with a strange nervousness. "I have to go thank one of the greatest Queens of Old and a good friend of mine."

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

Lucy rubbed her fingertips against each other with a frown. She had thought the blackening was from the cauldron as she had gently removed its contents and filled the silver bottle by her side. But she had attempted to wash them and they were still black. Black and slightly numb.

She pushed the matter from her mind and leaned back further in the tub. She soaked in the luke warm water. It had been scalding when she had first entered it, an hour or more ago, but now it was quick on its way to tepid. With a sigh, she rose and let the water roll from her skin, her hair clinging to her back.

A lion hair dryer would be nice, she thought, then chuckled at the stupidity of using Aslan as a dryer. Then again, cats _did_ have a tendency for cleanliness, tame or not.

A maid hurried over, a bath gown in her hands, and placed it over Lucy's shoulders. Then the girl lifted Lucy's hair out of the way and as Lucy sat down by the vanity in her dressing chamber, the maid started brushing out the tangles from the wet hair.

"Thank you," Lucy said with her eyes closed, as she allowed herself to enjoy it. It was one of the things she had missed, back in England. Having someone take care of her hair. Not because she needed to be pampered, but because it was comforting. It made her feel less alone, more at home, more like the years she spend in Narnia.

"Any time, your Majesty," the girl told her, a smile in her voice. "Them all says you saved King Caspian, and so many of our soldiers, least I can do's take care of your hair."

Lucy opened her eyes and met the maid's in the mirror.

"Any time- ?" she repeated, a spark of humour in her smile. Her maid looked no older than fifteen.

"Helin, your Majesty," the girl blushed.

"Call me Lucy please," Lucy told her. "If you're going to do my hair, we might as well rid ourselves of the formalities."

"Oh, no, Majesty! I couldn't!" she gasped.

Lucy lifted an eyebrow at the girl, but let it go. She did not want to force the girl or make her feel uncomfortable. As Helin finished brushing her hair, the maid hurried to the table where three dresses had been laid out.

"This'be the only dresses we could find, suitable for one of your status and in proper fit," Helin told her. "They belonged to one of Archenlands visiting ladies, so the silk is from the south and finest there is, your Majesty. She left 'em as she left in a huff and puff."

"Oh? How come?" Lucy asked as Helin helped her into a wine red gown with golden embroideries and a typical Archenian cut.

"It really isn't my place to comment, Majesty, but I believe it had something to do with-" Helin started, but was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Come in," Lucy called as Helin tied the last lace on the side of the dress.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

 _ **A/N**_

* * *

 _No, no, no, sweethearts, goodness no! I don't think you're rude for wanting to see Caspian and Lucy interact and spend time together- That is part of the goal and of course a story about bonds, relationship and romance is going to go in that direction, but somebody left an anonymous review which quite frankly was designed to insult both me, my story and my general writing, which pissed me off for a short while. I can respect constructive criticism, though I chose what to take from it myself, as long as it is politely phrased and well meant, which is also why I ask you to point out if there's typos hidden I haven't caught. I love it when you tell me what you think is good and even though I don't love it, I respect it when you tell me what doesn't work.  
_

 _I played around with perspective in this chapter, starting part 5 out from Rikeety's Pow and then ending it with Caspian's. Not sure how it worked out- I'm threading the different character's parts together in some of them, and keeping the edges clear in others._

 _It's how my writing gets better- by feedback and reviews.  
_

 **On that note, chapter 9 is going to be a thing with a thing. Meaning, interaction~~**

* * *

 _Thank you so much for all your support, especially to you wonderful wonderful people who keep commenting chapter after chapter and bringing me such joy._


	9. Chp 9 - Common Colds and Sore Throats

**9\. – Common colds and sore throats  
**

* * *

"Caspian! You're awake!" Lucy called, pure joy at the sight of him awake and unhurt. She hurried forward to greet him and he caught her, hands on her waist as he lifted her and twirled her around. She barely noticed Helin excusing herself and exiting to the other chamber.

"Lucy!" he smiled as he sat her down, laughter shimmering in his dark eyes at her greeting. And then they both stilled ever so slowly. The initial joy of them finding each other conscious and present and _here,_ was forgotten in an instant as they looked at each other.

A shiver ran through her when he stepped close to her and she drew in a small breath of air. Looking down to let her hair fall forward and hide her from him, her lips slightly parted as she breathed. She saw his hand move and his fingers lifted her chin up. How could he be so _here_ when he had been unconscious and hurt only the day before? How could he seem so intensely present, just from being near?

Her eyes met his again.

"Caspian," she whispered his name.

The king's eyes softened, as he looked into the blue infinity that was hers.

"Lucy," he said her name with quiet wonder, his eyes searching her face, taking in every detail.

His fingertips were calloused against the smoothness of her cheekbones as he tilted her head up further, leaning in deeper to watch her _closer_. He wondered, was she really there? Despite the magic she had worked during the night and in the infirmaries, he did not know. He was not _sure_. Might be he had died and gone to some strange other life. Her skin caught the candle light in a luminous manner as his eyes travelled down her neck and further. Strange scars in lightning like patterns shone silver on her arms. He wondered why and how she had been marked so.

How had Lucy, so young when he first met her, and such a flustered teen the second time around, come to look the queen she had once been?

Lucy had no clue to his thoughts and her own seemed to have fled her, leaving her wordless, filled instead with emotions so strong she could hardly put a word to them, even had they not fled her. She struggled to remember how to breathe.

She was quiet, as if a storm had been brewing for the longest time within her and had suddenly died out. As if a current had been shuddering through her, keeping her in constant motion, and had suddenly disappeared. As if she had been a fragile shell floating in the waves of the ocean, suddenly laid to rest in the sun on the shore. As if she had been hit by lightning. As if she was waiting for the next wave to crash.

"Tell me." Caspian commanded, his voice still below a whisper. "Is it really you?"

She could feel the warmth of his breath on her face and he was so close she could imagine the feel of his stubble against her skin.

She closed her eyes at the sensations.

"Yes." she breathed.

Caspian wanted nothing more than to-

And for one breathless moment he almost did, but then, with a tightness spreading in his chest, reality set in.

He closed his eyes too, breathing deeply as he took half a step back and removed his hand from her face. Then he opened his eyes again and met hers. Wide and blue, and deep. If she was confused by his withdrawal, he could not see it in those lipid depts.

"I apologize, Lucy," he said. "This war, I've barely slept for days before my injuries, and it seems to have addled my mind a bit," he hesitated, trying to formulate an excuse for his sudden urge to get as close to her as possible. It was as if a spell had been broken.

The moment had only been that. A moment.

Lucy smiled, a slight flush to her cheeks.

"It's okay, Caspian," she said, looking down as she smoothed her newly put on dress with both hands. She wondered if the strange moment had been her imagination. She was floating in the waves again. "I never doubted that Narnia was real, but sometimes, sometimes the people I've met here seemed nothing more than ghostly memories." She smiled gently, feeling strangely tense. "I missed my friends here dreadfully."

Looking at her, Caspian wondered if she had been lonely in the land beyond the wardrobe. Again their eyes met and they stilled. It was as if they needed to say something or do something, but neither of them knew if it was allowed. This was not right. They were friends, they had been since Caspian first met the Kings and Queens of Old in the Forest by Rush River. It should be easy, talking, like breathing.

They were friends and strangers meeting for the first time.

"I missed you too," Caspian told her, his face serious and his tone sincere. And he had. When Edmund and Lucy and their dreadful- though he got better- cousin had appeared in the ocean shortly after he set out with the Dawntreader, they had become his friends. In truth, he had admired them and their ability to calmly bear their titles and the perils of the journey, and yet still laugh and joke and _live._ Which brought him to another question. "But how did you come here? I thought Aslan said you and Edmund couldn't return?"

"Well, Edmund hasn't, and as for how, I followed Aslan into a storm, lightening struck, and next thing I knew, I was back in Narnia," Lucy said, opting for the short version. "As for why I was brought back when he said I would never return, I simply don't know. But I woke up where I needed to be, to bring help."

"I can never repay you for what you did," Caspian started, but Lucy held out a hand to silence him.

"Once a King or Queen of Narnia, always King or Queen of Narnia, somebody once told me," she said a bit of teasing in her voice. "I guess I don't have to tell you why I won't need repayment."

As he thought about all that he would sacrifice, all that he would do, to protect his country, he understood. But he shook his head despite it.

"But thanks you will have regardless," he told her.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

If Lady Isia Goldstream had been any less than the woman she was, she would have washed her hands of the organising long before it reached the current point, but with Caspian appointing her son as heir, she could hardly allow herself to do that.

Instead she patiently made sure that the shipment of wheat from Archenland was safely deposited in Cair Paravel's stores, and that every barrel and sack was catalogues and noted in the great ledgers. She personally oversaw the scribes - a group of hedgehogs with glasses on their long snouts, because as everyone knows, those are terribly near sighted – and made sure that every room used for storing was both dry and slightly cool, so nothing would happen to the wheat. She would be cursed if it should rot under her watchful eyes.

"Where do you want this?" a New Narnian man asked her, lugging a barrel beneath one arm, and a sack of wheat over his opposite shoulder.

"The third storage room to the left," she told him primly, looking over the ledger. "We need at least another twenty barrel measures in there, and perhaps a sack and a half, just to fill it up." The hedgehog currently writing, sent her a furious look, which in no uncertain terms spelled out that she needed to stop reading over its shoulder. Any more and it might throw its needles!

Out the corner of her eye, she spotted dark hair and a familiar red tunic crossing the castle's yard.

"Edwaird!" she called, striding towards her son, and frowning at the look of annoyance on his face. His brown eyes and the wayward way his hair always fell reminded her so much of her husband, she felt both happy and sorrowful each time she saw him. "You promised to help out this morning. The wheat-"

"I know, I know," the teenager waved her off. "I forgot."

"You forgot?" she asked him, placing her hands on her hips. "What where you doing?"

"I was just out hunting with Mardek and the oth-"

A terrible coughing fit from one of the workers interrupted them, and they both turned just in time to see one of the wheat lugging men collapsing to the ground, twisting in an attempt to breathe.

Both hurried to his side, as people gathered around. Somebody removed the sacks the man had been carrying, while Lady Goldstream grabbed his chin and lifted it back, to straighten his neck and widen his airways.

"Breathe!" she told him firmly, as if she could command the rasping to subside. Small drops of blood had painted the man's hands, and his skin was clammy to her touch. After a few seconds, the coughing stopped, the man's eyes rolling back in his skull and consciousness leaving him.

"What in Aslan's Mane-" Lady Goldstream muttered. "I've never seen such illness before."

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

"Your Majesty!" the mouse interrupted Caspian and Lucy before any more words could be exchanged, causing a sharp sting of annoyance to shoot through Caspian.

"What news, Mecheep?" he asked courteously despite it, as he would never offer the mice insult.

"They've found Rapachap, Your Majesty," the mouse said, deeply affected. His eyes were suspiciously wet, his paws and whiskers shaking. Ears pressed to the back of his head. "He's- He's dead."

"Dead?" Caspian almost found himself shouting. "How? When? Where is he now?"

"Rikeety is taking care of his corpse, they've brought him to the gate-"

Before the mouse had finished speaking, both Caspian and Lucy were moving, hurrying to assess the mouse who Lucy did not remember ever meeting, and whom had saved Caspian's life in more than one skirmish after taking over the leadership of the mice company.

Lucy forgot to lift the skirt as she hurried down the stairs, and stepped on the hem. For half a breath, she was falling, but Caspian's hand closed around her hand and righted her, allowing them to hurry on. Once they hit the ground floor, they made for the outside, already able to see the people gathered around what looked like the entire mice company.

Rikeety had his tail in one hand, his sword in the other, and his paws was curled so hard around them, Caspian thought it had to hurt. The mouse looked like a statue. Lucy thought she could see cracks forming, but then the second was over, and Rikeety's tail swung back again as he let it go.

They turned to look at the cause of Rikeety's profound agony. The reason for the mice who were beyond grand words or courteousness, and who had not even recognized that their Majesty was beside them.

Rapachap, though it was difficult to see that it had once been him, laid in the middle of the gathered crowd. He had been dead a while, they could see, and blood crusted around his mouth and in his whiskers. Sores covered the soft skin inside his ears, and on his paws, and his fur looked greasy. He smelled rotten, like fish gone bad.

Lucy covered her mouth in horror, and turned her head away, unable to watch.

Caspian took a deep, shuddering breath, and looked at the mice. Rikeety was the only one to meet his eyes.

"He was sick," the mouse said. "When he came back from-" He stopped, not mentioning Rimity's name.

"Let me see," Lucy rasped, swallowing the bile that had risen in her throat. She leaned forward examining the sores, and the waxy consistency of his fur. She did not touch him, but used a handkerchief to lift one of the paws. She shook her head. "I've never seen it before," she whispered. "Not even back in the time where I ruled with my brothers and sister."

"He must have wandered off in a fever," Caspian said.

"Without medicine he wouldn't have lasted long- The sores and the coughing would have dehydrated him quickly. And he looks as if he's been drenched in sweat!" Luce exclaimed, still horrified.

"He coughed when he came back," Rikeety said stonily.

"Yes," said Caspian, a cold weight settling in his stomach. There was something about the coughing that filled him with trepidation, but what...

"Majesty! Majesty!" a woman shouted, and turning, he saw Maila come running from the castle. "It's Joel, he's fallen- We can't get him to stop coughing, and he has a fever. Cook said to fetch you right quick to the infirmaries- There's more of them! Many more!"

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

One wet trashing cough tore through her and choked up her lungs, followed by another, and yet another. The baby in her arms twisted and gave a disgruntled cry, which turned to an angry scream at the gross injustice at being jostled by the coughing.

"Never you mind," she rasped in her language, which would have sounded quite foreign indeed to any Narnian, or indeed British person. "We'll be safe soon, Aslar, safe and sound. Everything will be better."

Even the flushed newborn in her arms felt cool to her fevered touch as she stumbled through a bramble bush, and up towards the castle wall.

"We'll be safe, my love. Safe."

Another cough tore through her, but this time she managed not to set off another cry. They would be safe. She would find a place to hide, here in the castle, just until she was better, and then they would continue north. Away from Archenland, away from that _man_ and to somewhere safe, where he would never find her.

"Safe," she mumbled, as her fingers brushed against the stones far beneath the balustrade.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

Lucy had been fighting the sickness with the doctors for two days now, using willow bark tea to dull the fever, and a draft of thornwhistle for the cough. Every soar was tended to with balms made of thisleweed, but though no one had died, yet, there was no one who had gotten better either. She remembered a conversation with Drinian from earlier in the day, the thought of the argument almost bringing tears to her eyes again.

"Can't you just-" Drinian had said, pointing at the silver cordial, and Lucy had been forced to shake her head.

"I can't!" she had told him. "Not unless they are dying- What if somebody needs it more? What if we run out? There is a war coming- A war that has already begun!"

"But they are suffering! How do you know this won't kill them?" Drinian had forced out between clenched teeth. "Your Majesty-"

"No. Not unless they are at death's door," Lucy had said with more conviction than she felt. It tore her heart to see them suffer such, tore her heart to know that she held what had to be a certain cure, and had to wait and see if the non-magical cures worked first.

With a tired slump, she found herself almost falling down into sitting on the edge of a cot in one end of the infirmary.

"We have to quarantine the castle," Lucy said with exhaustion, wiping her forehead with the back of a newly washed hand. "This is spreading too quickly."

"It is done," Caspian told her, appearing in the doorway. "I just gave the order. So far there has been no new cases with the troops camped outside, not since the batch they sent to the infirmary yesterday, but I don't know how far our luck will hold."

Lucy sighed.

"Any news from Cair Paravel?" she asked, hopefully.

Caspian shook his head.

"Nothing," he said. "There's been no messenger hawks, and no riders since the battle. I don't even know if the first shipment of Archenland wheat has arrived yet."

She looked up at him, met his eyes and felt the tears that had been pressing sting as they demanded to be let free. His worry was as strong as her own, and in that one moment they shared it, and it seemed the lighter for it.

"You look exhausted," Caspian commented softly.

Lucy scoffed in bitter amusement.

"I am exhausted."

Caspian nodded towards her seat.

"You're sitting on a bed, you know. Nobody would blame you if you got some sleep, and the doctors would wake you when you are needed," he said.

"I know," Lucy told him. "I know, just-" She could not bring herself to sleep. Not when Narnians where muttering in fevered pain, or coughing and choking. Not when they were hurt and sick, and needed taking care of. Especially since she could end this illness right quick, if she did not worry she may need the silver cordial for something else. Still the intense terror of when they had found Caspian on the battlefield, bleeding and dying, and she had almost lost him. Lost him because there had only been a single drop left of the fire-flowers' juice. What if it had been empty? What then?

"You'll be useless if you can't keep your eyes open," Caspian told her gently, taking one of her hands in both of his. "I'll stay and wake you if you're needed."

The comfort of his warmth had her closing her eyes.

She knew he was right. She was tired, about to cry, and needed sleep something fierce.

"Promise you'll wake me if somebody takes a turn for the worse?" she asked him.

"Promise."

So Lucy curled up and slept, and though Caspian let go of her hand, he stayed seated on the edge of her cot, until she fell asleep. And if Lucy felt a lingering warmth where their hands had touched, she forgot it as she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 **.o.O.o.**

* * *

 **A/N**

 _It is literally impossible not to continue writing on this with all the positive feedback I've gotten from you guys. Thank you so much for the reviews, faves and follows- Especially to those of you who've done all of them. As always, I love to hear what you think.  
_

 _Sorry for the long wait, but life happens, and I have been focusing on some of my original stuff._


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